


Slow Burn

by GirlWithTheMousyHair



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Fight Sex, Fights, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 69,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlWithTheMousyHair/pseuds/GirlWithTheMousyHair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Gene are drawn together by circumstance, of course... but is there more to it? Neither of them knows, but they're going to have to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Absolute Beginners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gene start to notice a new atmosphere in the pub.

Gene had the best seat in the pub. If pressed, he'd have said it was because it was near enough the bar to give Nelson the nod when he needed a pint, far enough from the bogs so that he didn't get a waft of that stench every time someone staggered out, and looking on to the door, so he could keep an eye on who was coming and going. An old copper's habit, he'd say. He wouldn't mention that he was actively watching the door, and looking for someone in particular. It was just professional concern anyway – every Friday night that Sam didn't come down the Railway Arms meant a sullen Monday morning with a man who had spent the weekend thinking too much and not getting enough good, healthy sleep. No more than that.

Every time the door opened he had to force himself not to snap his head up. His seat was angled just enough so that he would see them, whoever they were, before they saw him. In case any toerags came in who he needed to get a jump on. Never mind that this was a coppers' pub and the least likely place to find any of Manchester's thieves and crooks. You could never be too careful. He had a paper in front of him but he was damned if he'd read more than two words at a time. Later he'd join the group – Ray, Chris and Phyllis seemed to be having a very interesting discussion about bedroom athletics, though the lads didn't seem to be enjoying it as much as Phyllis was – and Cartwright was in with a couple of the nameless plonks. They'd all come together as the night went on and the beer flowed, but for now they were in their own cliques, and that suited the Guv just fine.

  
The door opened again, and again Gene had to restrain himself from the reaction that would come naturally, and feign a casual glance over.

Damn the man, it wasn't him.

Not that Gene cared.

 

 

Sam approached the pub with the usual feelings of anxiety. He couldn't seem to shake the fear that one night he'd walk in and nobody would be there, leaving him on his own and in more need of a drink than ever. He supposed it was only natural but it didn't stop him feeling like he was back at school and out of the in crowd. He took a breath, shook his head at his own trepidation, and stepped towards the door.

He had his head lowered as he walked in, and forced himself to raise it. The first table he saw was Chris, Ray and Phyllis, and he breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Relieved to see Ray, nobody would believe it if he told them. Not that he would. Phyllis seemed to be making a gesture with her hands; Chris was looking a bit flushed and Ray distinctly uncomfortable. Chris glanced up and gave Sam a nod.

'Alright, Boss?'

Phyllis put her hands down and reached for her sherry, tipping Sam a wink as she did.

Ray didn't turn round. That was OK.

 

Sam's eyes landed on the next table over. Annie sat with two of the WPCs; he thought their names might be Beth and Susie. Remembering names was an important part of the DI job; he wanted everyone to think that he appreciated them as individuals, despite this being a ludicrously modern idea for 1973. Annie had her back to him, but he noticed Beth clock him and say something to the other two. Susie gave him a smile that he barely registered, and he thought he saw Annie's shoulder twitch. A beat or two passed, then she turned her head and sought him out. She gave him a smile, a sweet, Annie smile, and Sam couldn't help but smile back. He thought, as always, that he saw a tiny speck of hope in her pretty eyes, drowning in the blue. He felt, as always, guilty to have noticed it. Still, it was hard not to smile back at Annie, and he broke into that trademark Tyler grin, stepping further into the bar.

 

'Nice of you to join us, Dorothy.'

Without thinking, Sam turned to find the Guv (there was no need to wonder who would be using that particular greeting), still grinning warmly. He found him, sitting opposite the door with a paper and a dangerously close to empty Scotch on the table in front of him, face a study in indifference. Sam walked towards him. He thought, from the corner of his eye, that he saw Annie's shoulders slump just a fraction as she turned back to the table. He tried not to notice.

'Thought you weren't coming,' said Gene, still practising that blank expression that, frankly, he needed absolutely no further practise on. Sam ambled across the short space to the table, shrugging.

'Thought there might be something on telly for me.'

'I didn't know they put Jackanory on at this time of night.'

Sam would usually have rolled his eyes at this, or given his DCI a sarcastic smile, but with that broad grin still on his face he had to laugh it off. Gene let the corners of his mouth lift just a little, and pushed out a chair with his foot.

'Take a seat.' The chair skidded out from the table, remaining upright and stopping at just the right angle for Sam to slide into it. He looked down at it, impressed despite himself, and shrugged off his leather jacket, sliding it down his arms.

'I'll just…' he started, reaching for his wallet.

'No need, Sammy-boy,' said Gene, lifting a bottle of Scotch from beside him on the floor. Sam raised his eyebrows.

'Oh yeah? Does Nelson know you've got that in here?'

'He bloody should, he sold it to me half an hour ago. For a very reasonable price, I might add…' Gene lifted a previously unnoticed tumbler out from behind his own, placed it in the middle of the table and proceeded to open the bottle. Sam gave another laugh – he was a barrel of them tonight – and hung his coat over the back of the chair, then folded his neat limbs under the table. He had a warm feeling in his stomach where the anxiety had so recently been. The Guv even had a glass ready for him! He enjoyed the feeling of inclusion and the anticipation of Nelson's – he had a quick squint at the bottle – fourth finest Scotch.

Gene slid a now-full glass across the table to him. He lifted it, and tipped it in the Guv's direction with a head tilt of thanks. Gene blinked his 'you're welcome' and lifted his own glass, mimicking Sam's gesture. They both drank, Sam suppressing the wince that always accompanied the first sip, the Guv with every sign of pleasure. They both sat back.

 

 

Gene felt himself relax, now. He was aware that it'd felt really good to bring out that bottle and glass and pour Tyler a drink. The man needed a drink, if anyone did; he was being a good DCI by providing one. Just trying to keep the team functioning. Tyler was a man apt to hop on the Magic Roundabout at any moment, it was only natural that Gene wanted to keep him happy. Besides, just at the moment, he needed a bit of company himself, and Chris or Ray wasn't always his first choice. In fact, they hadn't been his first choice almost since the day this odd little man had turned up in the office, shouting about desks. It was one of those whatdyoucallem things. Quid pro quo sort of idea. Tyler needed someone to keep his feet on the ground, and Hunt needed someone to take his mind off his home life. Definitely only natural that he should be looking out for Tyler. Anyway, it didn't do to overthink, he was always trying to tell Sam that.

The night progressed like any other Friday. Seats shifted, groups formed and reformed and nobody ever had an empty glass. Sam and Gene got to find out exactly what Phyllis had been saying to the other lads, and laughed themselves silly over it while the other two continued to maintain strained expressions. Annie joined in the laughter and made an oblique reference to that morning when the Guv had found Sam handcuffed to the bed, bollock naked. It was oblique but vaguely complimentary, and while the Guv laughed harder than strictly necessary at the memory, Sam didn't mind joining in, especially when he noticed Ray scowling. A bit later Sam found himself surrounded by the four women, talking about feminism of all things and ignoring the snide glances from the other men. As the women nodded sagely, he raised his head to take another sip from his Scotch (which had been kept generously topped up) and noticed Gene looking over at them, that inscrutable look back in place. Their eyes met, but both looked away quickly. Sam felt another flicker in his stomach. He brushed it off and went back to the conversation. Sometimes it was good to be here in 1973, he seemed like such a paragon of virtue compared to the other men. It wasn't always bad to be the centre of such attention and, he would admit to noticing it, affection. As he put his drink back down he caught Annie's eye, this time, and smiled at her. That flicker of hope looked a bit bigger this time. The guilt struck again and he looked away.  _Can a man not have a drink without making accidental eye contact all the time?_

 

 ***

 

Later still, and Sam was back with the Guv at that first little table, both leaning inwards on their elbows to hear each other over the music and general rabble. The first bottle of Scotch seemed to have been replaced seamlessly by a second, and both men were feeling happily warm and fuzzy. When Gene found himself thinking the phrase 'warm and fuzzy' he laughed to himself, allowing a small smile to cross his face as he looked into his drink.

'What's funny?' asked Sam, smiling too.

'Nothing Sammy-boy, just enjoying being out in the pub' Gene said, expansively. Sam looked at him.

'Guv, you come in here every day.'

They looked at each other for a moment then, together, started to laugh. Gene had missed having a DI he could laugh with without resorting to the kind of jokes Ray and Chris favoured. Not that there was anything wrong with them, mind, but moments like this one, now, with Sam, made the cheap laughs pale in comparison. They laughed into each other's faces, each feeding off the other. Pale in comparison, yes indeed.

 

When they had run out of mirth, Gene reached for the bottle. He topped up his own glass, but when he came to Tyler's the man covered it over with his hand. Gene frowned over at him.

'What?' he asked.

Sam sniggered again but kept his glass covered.

'I'm pissed, Guv. I think I'll get some water…' he added vaguely, looking around towards the bar where the dust and fag-dowt ridden jugs of water sat '…maybe from behind the bar…'

'Don't be a poof Gladys,' said Gene, reaching over and brushing Sam's fingers away. The touch of their skin seemed to startle Sam, as he jerked his hand away. Gene felt a bit startled himself. He hadn't thought anything of leaning over and saving Tyler from his own foolish sense of sobriety, but it suddenly seemed like a bit of an intimate gesture. They'd been physically close before, of course, with fists flying and knuckles bruising, but now this cramped table seemed too close for comfort. He noticed that his knees were touching Sam's and moved them as he poured more amber liquid into Sam's tumbler. He showed nothing in his face, but found himself feeling a warmth that he tried to pass off as the booze. It wasn't, though; it was the same feeling he'd had the first time he'd taken a particular pretty girl's hand to help her down the stairs. His first girlfriend, she'd been, and he'd been head over heels about her. He hadn't thought about that in years, hadn't had any cause to be reminded of it. Funny he should think of it now.

 

He looked up to see Sam watching him. He knew he'd given nothing away in his face, but he still wondered. When you worked closely with someone you got to be a bit whatsit, psychic or whatever. Maybe Sam had picked up something of his thoughts after all. Not that he'd volunteer anything, even if he had been rumbled being a soppy git. He raised his eyebrows at Sam.

'It's for your own good,' he said, meaning the whiskey. Sam looked momentarily nonplussed, then his expression cleared and he lifted his glass an inch or so, nodding. Gene raised his own glass to his lips. How many times had he drained a glass of Scotch in this pub? Yet he'd never thought of that girl until tonight. Funny. Chris came stumbling over, then, and broke up Gene's train of thought with his drunken chat. He was seeing this new bird, and he seemed to want to ask Tyler about it.  _Sam Tyler, international fanny magnet_ , Gene thought, a bit resentful. His own advice had been good enough for Chris before. He listened in to their conversation, occasionally adding his own insights which were met with a less than warm reception. Still, he thought he could see a laugh behind Tyler's eyes, despite his feminist sensibilities. Chris seemed to be glad of any advice he could get. Poor bugger.

 

 ***

 

Sam had his head on his arms, flat on the table. He didn't realise he was dozing until he was woken up, with an uncharacteristically quiet summons of 'Oi! Dorothy!' He lifted his head a little way and blinked owlishly. The guv sat opposite him, feet up on a vacated barstool, all long lines and pursed lips. He snorted laughter now, smoke jetting from his nose.

'Back in the room, areya?'

'Gotta get home,' mumbled Sam, struggling upright in his chair.

'I quite agree. Let's have a nightcap.'

Gene poured an economical measure into each glass and handed one to Sam. Knowing that this was the path of least resistance, and not really wanting to go home anyway, Sam reached out to take it. His hand, a bit drowsy from sleeping, went a little further than he meant and, for the second time, he found his fingers touching the Guv's, this time with his on top. He felt that same start, the same warmth in his gut, but this time he didn't jerk away. There was booze involved, after all, and dropping a glass of Scotch was liable to earn him a world of pain. He repeated this to himself, trying to ignore his hammering heart. He realised, too, that he was far beyond dropping that glass now, yet Gene still hadn't let go. He looked up, this time meaning to catch some meaning in his DCI's slate blue eyes, some explanation. Their eyes met, smoke from the cigarette creating a thin veil between them. Blue eyes into brown, they looked levelly at each other for a second before Gene slid his fingers gently out from under Sam's.

'Drink up, then,' said the Guv, never looking away.

'It's home time.'


	2. Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suitably drunk, Gene makes an admission - but not the one you're expecting.

Sam nodded at him, still feeling a bit breathless, and functioning on auto-pilot took a sip from his glass. Gene nodded back, once, then drained his drink in a practised swallow and swung his legs off the stool.

'I'm off to the pisser,' he said, banging his tumbler back on the table. As he walked off, Sam was relieved to see a hint of stagger in the usual, straight-backed gait. They'd both had too much to drink, then, that was alright. Sam took another sip of his whiskey and sat up straighter, feeling more awake and less drunk than he'd been minutes before. He put his glass down to drag his hands across his face and through his short hair, leaving it ruffled. He noticed a jug of fresh water on the table. He smiled.

 

 _Nelson_ , he thought. What a barman. What a mate. There was even a lonely ice cube, melting on the surface.

 _What, no lime wedge?_ He snorted quiet laughter as he reached for the jug. He hooked the Guv's empty with the other hand and poured himself a drink, knocked it back and poured another. He felt a lot more sober now; still pleasantly sparkled, but not borderline falling-down-passing-out drunk as he'd been earlier on. The sleep must have done him good. He must have been out for a while, too; the pub was empty apart from their table. He didn't remember anyone leaving, he hoped that was because he'd been out cold and not because he'd been too pissed.

The intensity of the moment between him and the Guv had faded. He'd always been one to let the drink make conversations and even relationships seem more important, more charged than they really were. He probably wouldn't remember it at all tomorrow, it really was a non-event. When he'd been single, his mates had wound him up about being such a flirt, but it was more down to this tendency to find interacting with people so fascinating, so meaningful than any desire to sleep around. That wasn't a bad by-product, as it went, but he didn't really do it on purpose. His more amorously challenged friends were always disgusted when he told them that. He drank the rest of his second water glass and dished out a third.

 

The Guv relieved himself with the appreciation that only drunk people can truly feel for a good arc. He mulled over that odd moment with Tyler, not sure what, if anything, had happened and how he felt about it, whatever it may or may not be. He was pretty sure it was just Tyler waking up and taking a bit of time to get back up to speed. It had looked like he might drop that glass, and even if it wasn't the best stuff Gene didn't want to see it soaking into the carpet, so he'd held on to it a bit longer to make sure that didn't happen. There was something else there, something about how he felt when his DI's expressive eyes met his own. Something about the touch of their hands. No, forget that, there was nothing but a couple of drunk guys down the pub.

He zipped up and washed his hands. He had many faults, but a lack of cleanliness wasn't among them. Time to go home, he thought, absent-mindedly drying his hands on his suit trousers – he should probably leave the Cortina round the back where it was, but that never usually stopped him from taking it. The streets would be quiet anyway. Sam might be too tired to object, that would spare him the usual telling off that he had to pretend not to hear. He'd decide when he got out into the air; he did have the best part of a bottle down him, that was a bit much even by his own standards. He made his way back into the pub.

 

Gene arrived back at the table, having weaved around chairs and tables that didn't necessarily need weaving around. He lifted his camelhair coat from the back of the chair and noticed Sam drinking water as he pulled it on.

'You can't help it, can you Gladys? Even down the pub you're a fairy.' He smiled though, despite himself. There was something about Sam, sitting upright and tucked in and sipping his water, that was impossible to look at with a straight face. Sam raised his eyes as he took another drink, the creasing at their corners showing that he had taken the jibe with good humour. 'You ready to go then?'

Sam nodded, still draining the glass, then dropped it back on the table and came to his feet. He lifted his coat from the chair and tugged it on, with a couple of false starts. Gene was still smiling at him, unregarded; really he was a character you couldn't help but be fond of, Tyler was. All wide eyes and tousled hair, and a look of fierce concentration as he tried to get his arm and his sleeve to match. The jacket was a tight fit, of course. Tyler's whole wardrobe was a tight fit. Gene wondered if he had to cut himself out of his jeans some nights. He paused for a moment then decided that was a thought that a red blooded man should never have about another man (even if he was less red blooded than you), and filed it away at the back of his mind. Sam had both sleeves negotiated by now, gave his pockets a pat to check for all the essentials and looked back up, seemingly pleased with himself. He saw the Guv smiling at him and returned it with a slightly dopey grin and outspread arms.

'I'm ready!' He dropped his hands to his sides again, still grinning in that unique way of his. Gene returned his own features to a non-committal pout and turned for the door. Standing here grinning at each other like a couple of brain donors, thank God nobody else was here to see it. Nelson had given Mr Hunt a set of keys for the pub years ago, after one too many lock ins that Nelson didn't mind hosting but didn't really want to be part of. The coppers' chat could be both deadly dull and depressingly grim by turns, and after you'd been up till 4am listening to it once or twice you were in no hurry to repeat the experience. So a set of keys seemed to be the perfect solution; nobody would hit a coppers' bar, anyway, but it didn't do to invite trouble. Gene didn't take the piss, left the pub in a decent state and made sure to lock up behind him. He glanced around now, taking in all the upturned chairs that he and Nelson had seen to, the optics soaking for the night, the glassware all stacked away. Only the table he and Sam had been at was left, their two glasses and water jug the only remnants of a busy Friday night. It'd do.

 

Sam had followed him over, bringing the whiskey that Gene was surprised at himself for forgetting. The younger man held it out, and Gene took it and slid it in his coat pocket, which had sagged into the right shape years ago. He turned and opened the door, drawing it towards him and stepping back to let Sam pass.

'Ladies first.' Sam only shook his head at that as we went by. Gene pulled the door to and set about locking it. Sam stood on the pavement, taking deep breaths and swaying a little. With the pub keys safely pocketed, too, Gene joined him.

'You're not driving, are you Guv?' Gene couldn't believe it, he was still going to get the lecture. He decided to skip it and shook his head.

'No, Tyler, I'll walk it. Don't worry.' Sam nodded, hands in his pockets, swaying on purpose now from the balls to the heels of his feet and back.

'Alright Guv. See you on Monday. Hope the missus doesn't give you a hard time when you get in.' He started off. Gene felt the words welling up before he was aware he was going to say them.

'Not much chance of that.' There, now he would tell someone. It might be good actually, Tyler was always saying that people should talk about things more. Of course, he could talk the hind legs off a donkey then sell them back, but maybe he was on to something. He was frowning down at the pavement now, not really turned around to face Gene but not walking any more, either.

'What?'

'She, er… she went to stay at her mother's…' Sam's shoulders came down and brow started to clear. '…for good, this time. She left me a note, says she's not coming back.' The frown came back and Sam lifted his head up now, looking at him. He seemed, for once, at a loss for words. He stood there with his mouth open, trying to find them.

 

'Shit,' he finally said, 'I'm sorry Guv.' He looked it too, so earnest. It was Gene's turn to look down at the pavement, suddenly sad and wishing he'd kept his trap shut.

'When?'

'Couple of weeks ago. She left while I was at work. Or maybe while I was at the pub. She says that's the problem, I'm always out somewhere. I spose she found a way to use it to her advantage; plenty of time to get packed up and write a Dear Gene letter.'

Sam wasn't sure if Gene was making a joke or if he really thought the phrase was 'Dear Gene'. He realised he was focusing on the wrong thing and tried to find some words of comfort.

'Shit.'

Gene huffed laughter. 'Thanks Sammy-boy. It was bound to happen eventually.'

'Are you OK?'

This brought a proper, if bitter, laugh. 'I don't know, and that's the truth. But if you tell anyone I said that I'll break your wrists. Any of this, in fact. It's between you and me, Tyler, OK?'

As if he had to ask. Sam was already nodding before the end of the sentence.

'Of course! Er… is there anything I can, you know… d'you need…?' he trailed off, not really sure what he was trying to offer but wanting the Guv to know that he, Sam, was there for him. He reached out to clap the bigger man on the shoulder.

'Alright you poof, I know you're always looking for an excuse to get yer hands on me but there's no need. Keep your grubby paws in your pockets.'

Sam did just that, giving a sad smile. 'Sorry Guv.'

 

They both stood silently now, looking at their shoes. Gene withdrew the bottle from his coat and opened it. He took a draught and held it out to Sam, nudging him on the arm with it when he didn't respond. Sam looked up then, taking the bottle but only holding it for now.

'What are you gonna do?' he asked, not really knowing what that meant but not knowing what else to say.

'Do? Nothing _to_ do, is there? I'm gonna keep on being a copper and keeping the streets clean. I'm gonna keep on spending my wages in Nelson's till. I'm gonna have another drink of that Scotch if you're quite finished admiring it.'

He sounded angrier than he felt but all this talk about feelings was getting on his nerves. He watched as Sam took a nip from the bottle and passed it back, unhurriedly, not offended in the least. Tyler knew when he was angry with him, anyway, usually by the way their faces were an inch apart and his back was against a handy filing cabinet. He took the bottle back, wondering if Sam was going to try and get him to 'open up'. What a load of horseshit; if a man was meant to open up he'd have a zip up the back and Gene Hunt most definitely did not. He wasn't sure, now, if he was glad he'd said anything. Might have been better to carry on as he'd been going. Still, it was bound to come out eventually, had to start some time. The Scotch burned in his throat, warmed the rest of him. Tyler was still standing there rocking on his feet, seemingly still speechless. When he offered the bottle back it was met with a sideways glance and a headshake.

 

'Well, I'm glad we had this heart to heart, Tyler. Time to get home, eh? See you on Monday.'

Sam looked up as if to speak, then settled for nodding, the corners of his mouth downturned.

'Alright Guv. See you on Monday.'

Gene turned then without further ceremony, and stalked off into the night. The house wasn't too far, he'd be home in no time. Home to climb into a cold bed. Actually, right now, that didn't sound so bad. Maybe it was good to talk, after all.

 

Sam watched the Guv walk off, mouth open again. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard, or that he, of all people, would be Gene's only confidant. The Guv's wife, gone. She'd always been there in the background, a presence unseen but often felt. She'd be brought up as an example of the civilians they were there to protect; she was a key part of one of A division's favourite Christmas Night Out stories; she was invoked in the pub when Gene seemed hell bent on having one too many.

 _Oh God,_ thought Sam. _Did I say that to him last weekend? And the one before? Have I been talking about her all this time? What an idiot. Idiot._ He wracked his brains, trying to remember. He didn't think he had brought her up recently, until tonight. Even if he had, he wasn't to know, was he? Nobody knew.

He marvelled over that again. Nobody else knew. Maybe that moment in the pub had been real? No, he was reading too much into things again. Bloody Scotch.

God, he couldn't believe this had happened and the Guv was just walking around as if nothing was wrong. They'd been married over twenty years, that was a long time to live with someone. When they're suddenly gone, how could you not feel upset? The Guv never was forthcoming with his feelings, of course. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he didn't know how he felt; men from the seventies weren't expected to have the same emotional intelligence that men back home were. There were pros and cons to that, Sam thought.

He realised that he'd been standing there looking after Gene's diminishing back, and started on his way home. Thank God the flat was nearby; it was one of its few good qualities. He thought of getting there, climbing into a cold bed. For once, that didn't sound too bad.

 


	3. Sense of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gene each have a day to themselves - a prospect dampened by a good dose of hangover.

Sam woke up on Saturday morning and began to develop The Fear. He’d had an unusually good sleep; the details of getting home were hazy, but he’d woken up in the middle of the night, sitting in front of the TV, shoes off and shirt unbuttoned. The test card girl was on the screen, where she belonged, though she did seem to look a bit reproachful. He’d turned her off: _that’s where you can stay, you witch._ He’d shuffled the few steps to the bed, shrugged off his shirt and trousers, and rolled in, pulling the battered old duvet round him. The next thing he remembered was waking up. No bad dreams, no waking himself up shouting, no cold sweats. No sweat at all actually; he had reached that special place populated by only the hungover, where he was fever hot but producing no sweat whatsoever. He felt like he was baking from the inside out. His head was a whirl of half-memories, the worst of which being

_Oh Lord, was I flirting with Gene Hunt? FLIRTING? With GENE?_

He remembered rationalising it to himself last night, thinking that he probably wouldn’t even remember it this morning. Oh, the irony. He remembered in excruciating detail the long seconds of eye contact, the feeling of warmth in his stomach as he and the Guv laughed over some joke, the touch of their hands on the whiskey glass.

 _Jesus._ He freed his hands from the stifling duvet to put them over his eyes, pressing hard enough to send silver rockets across the darkness. He scrubbed over the rest of his face, and, sitting up, through his hair. Sitting up did not agree with him, and he sat that way for a moment, hands on top of his head and eyes shut, in a private world of paranoia and pain. When the thumping subsided, he climbed carefully off the sagging mattress and padded towards the kitchen for water. He found an empty beans tin and a dirty fork and pot on the counter; at least he’d had the sense to eat something when he got in, then. As he ran the tap, he turned the events of last night over and over in his mind. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t a big deal, but it was a losing argument. God, why had he got so drunk?

 

That was the eternal question, of course. He and Maya had once amused themselves for hours trying to find as many different hangover types as they could, based on the first thing you thought to yourself when you woke up with one. His favourites were the Theological - ‘Oh God’ - the Scatological - ‘Shit’ - and the Philosophical - ‘Why?’. This hangover had already ticked two of the boxes, and he’d additionally just made himself feel worse by thinking about Maya. There was a real world somewhere, a world where he’d never have had this hangover and would never, ever be standing here in his vest and pants, in front of a rusty old sink, wondering if he’d been flirting with an overweight, middle aged man. Even if that man did look good in a camelhair coat.

The water was running cold now, and he filled a glass for himself, leaving the tap running as he drank half of it in one go. He refilled it, stopped the water and shuffled back into the other room. The Fear started to abate a bit. He hadn’t actually been flirting. They’d just had a couple of awkward eye contact moments, that was hardly big news, as leathered as they’d been. There was nothing to it. Besides, now that he thought about it, the first sign of flirting with Gene Hunt was probably his fist in your kidneys as he took you out for being a shirt lifter.

He drank more water, and checked his watch. He’d slept for eight hours, a personal record for recent times. Maybe that was just what he needed. Pity he’d woken up feeling like a manky old boot. He turned the TV back on and settled in the armchair, dragging the duvet off the hated bed while holding his water steady with the other hand. He could sit this hangover out for a few hours before he went out for a jog. He would just sit here, and wait it out, Fear or no Fear.

 

Gene Hunt had never had The Fear in his life. He wouldn’t recognise it as a Thing with Capital Letters if you said it to him, wouldn’t understand it even if you tried to explain. He knew fear alright, oh yes, but this soft business, all doubt and despair? Bollocks. He did, however, know what a hangover was, and he had a reasonable one of those right now. He drew himself upright on the couch - he’d never made it to the cold bed, it seeming less appealing when it was a reality in front of him - and looked around. The wool blanket he’d brought downstairs tangled itself up in his legs. He spotted his fags and hipflask on the table, and reached out for both. A hair of the dog wouldn’t hurt. He lit up and sat back, propping his feet on the table and exhaling loudly, a thin stream of smoke jetting into the air. He wondered how Tyler was this morning; he’d never seen the man so drunk. He’d still been compos mentis enough to nag Gene about drink driving though; Gene thought he was probably never to drunk to pick some fault or other. He had walked, though, and he’d have to go back and get the car later. He might stop in for a pint while he was about it.

He contemplated the days ahead as he smoked. There was nothing going on in CID that meant he had to be in there - at least, not yet - so he might actually have a real weekend, two days off. He had no idea how to fill them. Usually a weekend off would be a visit to the in-laws, an interminable afternoon of tea and forced politeness, followed by a night in front of the TV with a few cans. Sundays would be driving the missus to and from church, a read of the papers, maybe a game of darts then back home for a roast before an early night out of boredom. There wasn’t even a darts game this week. God, what did people _do_? Well, he could manage the TV and cans part, anyway, that would be enough until Monday came around. He puffed his cigarette and unscrewed the top of the flask with the other hand, taking a nip without really thinking about it. First order of business would be a shower, a shit and a shave before he went to get the Cortina. At least that old girl would never leave him, eh?

Thinking this, he stubbed out his fag in the mostly clean ashtray (he wasn’t the kind of man who would let his home, his castle, go to rack and ruin without a woman around) and heaved himself out of the sofa’s embrace. The blanket he roughly folded and set to the side, knowing he might want it again tonight. He stomped upstairs to start the day.

 

Sam’s weekends, when they happened, were low key affairs, especially when you compared them to his real life. There were no cocktail parties here in 1973; no barbecues in middle class gardens, no romantic dinners in nice restaurants, not even a movie and a takeaway. There was him, Sam, and sometimes the Test Card Girl. He would rather be on his own, no matter how lonely he felt that kid was never bloody welcome. He wondered what the Guv had been doing with his most recent weekends, how he was adjusting to single life. No more trips to the mother in law’s or whatever married couples did at the weekends. It might not be all bad. He thought back to the conversation they’d had outside the pub, analysing his own words and actions, hoping he’d communicated the correct amount of concern. He remembered Gene telling him to keep his hands to himself; that had been a joke though. Definitely just a joke.

He felt like he might ready to venture outside. The jog had been an ambitious plan, but he could manage out to the shops at least. He was still feeling The Fear, but it came in waves now instead of haranguing him constantly. When he felt like he had reached a spell of low tide, he got out of the chair and headed for the tinpot shower, scrubbing himself as if he could cure his psychological ails as easily as he could banish the smell of the pub from his hair. He found himself humming a tune toward the end, standing under the lukewarm water and actually feeling as though human might be within reach. He padded back into the main room and dressed, singing not quite out loud by now. Finally suited and booted, he was ready to face the streets. He was only planning on going as far as the corner shop to get a few essentials - bread, milk, lucozade and something in a can for dinner. Hoops, maybe. He smiled - he’d never been able to look a tin of spaghetti hoops in the face since his first meeting with the Guv. The man had a turn of phrase, you couldn’t deny it. ‘Avin ‘oops might just be the order of the evening for Sam. The shop might even have a tin of rice pudding if he was lucky. _What a rock and roll lifestyle_ , he smirked to himself. Dinner out of tins. He was too hungover to get out for a proper shop though, as much as he’d have liked to cook something. Sometimes the corner shop had bags of potatoes, so it was possible he could stretch to a corned beef hash. Maybe he should save that delicacy for Sunday dinner.

Caught up in his thoughts, he’d made his way out of the flat and on to the street. The shop was only a few blocks away, that was far enough for him to get some air about him, straighten his head up and come out of this paranoid mood. That said, it was lunchtime now, maybe he should go a bit further afield and get something from a caff? Wouldn’t be too bad to spend a bit of time out of the house. That sounded like a decent plan, he decided, and when he came to the newsagents he stopped only to get a paper, so he’d have something to read over his sandwich and cuppa.

 

Gene felt a lot better; the powers of a wash, a change of clothes and a few nips of whiskey shouldn’t be underestimated. He was ready to get on with the day, and the rest of the weekend, and he wouldn’t be spending any of it thinking about his feelings or moping about. First stop, the greasy spoon on the main road for one of their bacon rolls. Then, on to the pub to get the Cortina and a carry out. His coat was in its accustomed place over the back of the armchair, and he swept it up on his way to the door, listening for the reassuring jangle of keys in the pocket. He found his keys, his wallet, his badge and the forgotten Scotch bottle. He remembered now sharing it with Tyler as they stood outside the Railway Arms, both of them made awkward by the unusually personal line of conversation. After he’d regarded it for a minute, the bottle went back into the living room, for later. He stepped out of the house, locked up and proceeded to the caff, back straight and taking long strides. He took a deep breath of the air, enjoying its coolness, and tugged a fag packet out of his coat. Always did to have a few packets on the go. He lit up and took a long, satisfying drag. Onwards and upwards.

 

Gene made it to the Railway Arms, bacon roll dutifully digested. It was quiet at this time on a Saturday, and Nelson was in behind the bar, leafing through a book. He looked up when Gene walked in, and flashed him a broad smile.

‘Mister Hunt! Thought I’d be seein’ you today,’ he said, stepping up to the taps to pour a pint. He lifted a glass and raised one eyebrow in a question. Gene nodded, making his way round to the end of the bar where an inviting stool stood. He settled himself on it, feeling the familiar comfort of being here, in the pub.

‘Late night last night, was it?’ Nelson asked, filling the glass with bitter with a practised hand. ‘You must have been here a long while if you had to leave the ole girl out back.’

‘Late enough Nelson. Everything OK this morning was it?’

‘Of course Mister Hunt, as always.’ He put the pint up on the bar, waving off the Guv’s offer of money. ‘How was Sam when you last saw him?’ Before Gene answered he saw several snapshots of the night flicker past his mind’s eye. He and Sam laughing, brushing Sam’s hand off the top of his glass, watching the plonks and Phyllis swoon over Sam’s ‘modern values’ and feeling a stab of secret jealousy. He looked at Nelson’s wise face, and wondered how much of all that the barman had been aware of. If he knew Nelson, he was probably aware of everything, and then some. He didn’t get the chance to reply to the question anyway, as the barman carried on speaking, apparently keen to get something off his chest.

‘Actually... Heard you two leaving last night,’ he said, giving Gene cause for concern as he started his drink. ‘With the flat being upstairs, and the bedroom right at the front like it is... Well, I can’t help overhearing sometimes.’ He looked apologetically at the other man, confirming his fears, and lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry about your woman.’

 

Gene shrugged, swallowing and putting the glass back down. ‘Nothing to be done Nelson. No point crying over spilt milk, eh?’ His bravado didn’t seem to phase Nelson, who smiled a little sadly at him but didn’t pursue the matter.

‘Sam must have been alright anyway, if you got him on his feet and walking home. When I went upstairs I thought he might be setting up camp for the night.’ The barman chuckled to himself, his usual good humour seemingly unbreakable even by wives who left while their husband was at work. Gene smiled at him briefly, then took another sip. He didn’t feel the need to ask Nelson to keep the news to himself. For one he’d have overheard him telling Tyler the same thing, and for another he’d rarely met anyone as discreet. Part of the territory he supposed, barmen must hear an awful lot of personal revelations when the punters were in their cups.

‘He wasn’t too drunk to nag me about driving, I can tell you that much,’ he said, happy to keep the conversation off the topic of his marriage. Nelson laughed again, then moved off to pour another pint. Gene carried on with his own, letting his gaze pan round the quiet room and thinking of nothing much except how many cans he’d want for later, and if he wanted to add a half bottle to his order. If his eyes stopped on the table he and Sam had been at last night, he wasn’t aware of it. By the time Nelson came back he’d settled on a number of beers, plus a half of whiskey, and asked the barman to bag up the necessary. That would see him through the weekend, he reckoned, as he handed over the cash. He finished up his pint and waved away the offer of another, standing to lift his carry out off the bar.

‘See you soon mon brahv,’ Nelson said. Gene only nodded his reply and set off for the Cortina, and home.

 

 

Sam left the cafe feeling much more like himself (whoever that was). He meandered back to the flat, stopping off to pick up the essentials he’d listed earlier plus a bag of spuds and a bottle of red. Well, after all, it was Saturday night. He’d also passed by a run down charity shop and bought himself a couple of paperbacks; there was only so much TV that one man could watch. It occurred to him that he could have got his carry out from Nelson, and maybe some intelligent conversation to go with it. Probably for the best that he hadn’t. Returning to the scene of extreme drunkenness was best left a few days, in his experience. He made his way up the stairs to his bedsit, his heart sinking as usual when he opened the front door on to the same old peeling wallpaper and mouldering carpet. The first order of business would be to tidy it up a bit; get the dishes washed up, maybe some clean sheets on the heap of iron bars and springs masquerading as a bed. He’d feel better after he did. So thinking, Sam closed the door behind him and began getting his house in order. He’d reward himself with a glass of wine with dinner, and take the rest of the weekend one step at a time.

 


	4. Around and Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All's quiet in CID, so Gene and Sam take to the Cortina to seek out some wrongdoers, and Gene has some detective work of his own to do.

Sam was amazed on Monday by how normal Gene was. There was no hint of his new circumstances, to the point where Sam wondered a couple of times whether or not they’d had the conversation he remembered outside the pub. The Guv looked the same, smelled the same and sounded the same as ever. Sam paused over his paperwork for a moment as he rewound his thoughts; _‘smelled the same’_? Well, it was only the truth. Sam was familiar with the smell of Gene Hunt; smoke, wool, whiskey, aftershave and the faint soapy hint of washing powder. He was drawn into a cloud of it every time they had a fight, like it or not, and as smells went it wasn’t such a bad combination. It hadn’t changed, anyway, that was the point. Some might have expected the Guv to be lost without a woman to do his laundry, press his shirts and generally look after the small stuff so that the the man himself could get on with the important business of being the Gene Genie. Sam would have suspected otherwise, and his suspicions seemed to be confirmed today; Gene hadn’t changed a bit in all the time his missus had been away. This fact was evidenced not only by his appearance, but also by the fact he’d already called Chris a cack-handed spiv half a dozen times before lunch. Chris took it with his usual good, if baffled, nature. Nobody seemed to have a clue that anything was different.

 

He and the Guv hadn’t really crossed paths over the morning. It wasn’t the kind of office where you exchanged much by way of pleasantries at the start of the week. Annie had come by his desk, though, smiling coyly.

‘Hello, Sleeping Beauty,’ she’d said, eyes glinting.

‘Morning,’ said Sam, smiling back at her. ‘Was I out of it when you left then?’

Annie nodded. ‘Spark out on the table. Snoring and everything,’ she giggled. Sam feigned outrage.

‘I do not snore!’ She laughed more at this, shaking her head.

‘All right, maybe not snoring... You look better for it today mind you. Maybe you ought to start sleeping in the pub more often?’

Sam shrugged, pretending to consider it. ‘You might be on to something there.’ This, he told himself with a squirm of unease, was flirting. He couldn’t deny it. He hoped Annie didn’t read any more into it than just that, harmless office flirtation, and sometimes he could even convince himself that was true. Right now wasn’t one of those times.

‘Well anyway,’ she said, seeming to see some of this in his eyes, ‘I’d best get back. You know how it is - paperwork to do, tea to make.’ She smirked, making fun of herself. He nodded, the edges of his smile lowering.

‘See you later on, yeah?’ She agreed, and made her way out of the office to the desk. Sam cursed himself silently. Why did it have to be so complicated? He was too old for this shit. He liked Annie, very much, and sometimes he was even sure there was something more to it, but something always held him back from taking their relationship beyond gentle flirtation and the occasional glass of wine somewhere other than the Railway Arms. She was such a nice girl, he wished he’d kept a professional distance from the start and avoided all this. Of course, when you tell someone you’re from the future within 24 hours of meeting them, it has a certain effect on your relationship. There’s no going back from that.

He came out of his reverie to find the Guv standing over him. He could be so quiet, the man, for someone of his size. Sam looked up at him.

 

 

Gene had eased himself in to the start of the week. There was still no action, and while there was always paperwork to be done he tended to leave that to his DI. Sam was much more suited to all the pen pushing, he could clean up four or five files in the time it took anyone else to finish one. You had to know your team’s strengths, apply them where they were most needed. He thought all this as he sat in his office, feet up on the desk, leisurely smoking a fag. He’d been out and around the desks earlier on, spoken to Ray and sent Chris to get him a cuppa and some biscuits; couldn’t let the DC get complacent. He’d shuffled through some files on his desk, signed off some reports and the pile of overdue overtime sheets, but generally done not much of anything. Occasionally he’d strolled out around his kingdom, listening in on the conversations and wishing a shout would come up. It was all very well having an easy start but this was taking it too far. He didn’t trust it when it was so quiet.

From his office, he could see Cartwright walk over to Tyler, watch their brief conversation. He had no idea what was going on there, which annoyed him no end. He usually knew every detail of what went on in this station, prided himself on it, but here was this thing happening with those two and he couldn’t figure it out. There were times when it looked like they might end up rolling around on one of the desks, snogging the faces off each other, and then there were times, like today, when they were obviously being friendly but something was lacking. Tyler’s face, usually so easy to read, had a frozen look about it, especially around the eyes. He was shutting Cartwright out, and neither she nor Gene had any idea why. 

He thought he might try to find out, since there was no other detective work needing doing. As Cartwright walked away, Gene stepped quietly from the office and over to Sam’s desk. He could see that Tyler had some papers open in front of him, and a pen in his hand, but in the time it took Gene to cross the distance from office to desk he didn’t see him write a single word. He didn’t look up straight away, even when Gene’s shadow fell across him. He really must be deep in thought; Gene thought he recognised a guilty conscience when he saw one. But guilty about what?

 

Sam finally looked up, regarding the Guv from under long lashes. Gene had never noticed anyone’s eyelashes before, least of all another bloke, but right now it seemed unbelievable that Tyler’s hadn’t caught his attention before now. They looked soft, shading his dark hazel eyes, all part of Sam’s girly charm. If you liked that sort of thing. Neither spoke at first, lost in their own thoughts, but Gene came back to himself. 

‘Morning Tyler. How was the head on Saturday?’

‘Yeah alright,’ Sam smiled ruefully. ‘Think I maybe had one too many.’

‘One? You were out of your depth Sunbeam. Swayin in the breeze. I, on the other hand, could have finished that bottle meself and still driven home.’

Sam looked concerned. ‘I thought you walked?’

‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Gladys, I did. Couldn’t be bothered with your nagging, could I?’

Sam nodded, appeased.

‘Come on, we’re going out,’ commanded the Guv. Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, if the shouts aren’t going to come to us, maybe we should go to them.’ Sam didn’t look convinced but got up anyway, lifting his coat. They filed out, not bothering to explain to the others. They knew better than to question the Guv, anyway, he thought with some pride.

 

They drove around, passing some of the usual haunts for the city’s troublemakers, but there was nothing to see.

‘All quiet on the Western Front,’ said Sam. Gene laughed, once, his stony face not flickering. Sam lapsed back into silence, feeling a bit uncomfortable in it. Usually when the Guv was quiet like this it meant that a storm was brewing, and while The Fear had abated on Saturday afternoon and not returned all weekend, some of its more concerning ideas were coming back to the surface. Was the Guv regretting their conversation outside the pub that much? Or was there something else, something about their brief skin contact and unblinking eyes?

‘Thanks, Sam,’ said Gene, almost making Sam jump. For a moment he couldn’t process what the other man had said, it was so unexpected.

‘What for?’

‘Not telling anyone, you know...’ Gene glanced over at the passenger seat quickly, then back to the road. Sam didn’t really know what to say.

‘Well, who would I tell? Me and Ray aren’t exactly best buddies,’ he managed, over pronouncing the Americanism, hoping it might lighten the atmosphere.

‘No, but it might not have done you any harm to let it slip to Cartwright when you were having your little chat this morning. Might have made you seem clever. Might finally have got her knickers off.’ He gave another fleeting glance over, to see what effect this had had. Sam gave a disapproving look, by reflex, at the way Gene spoke about women.

‘Of course not,’ he said dismissively. He was surprised Gene had noticed him talking to Annie earlier, he’d thought the Guv had been buried in hated paperwork in his office. He felt a flash of guilt, again, when he remembered their conversation. Why? Why did it have to be so difficult? And if the Guv had started noticing he was probably in for some jibes about it, if not now then before long. And once that started, CID would be like a playground, with all the lads joining in. Someone might even sing ‘K-I-S-S-I-N-G’ - though, thinking about it, ‘My Ding-a-Ling’ would be more likely. He could do without it, whatever it would be.

‘What’s going on with you and Cartwright then, anyway?’ There it was. Damn. Sam looked down at his hands, wondering what to say. He knew the Guv would want some flippant reply, preferably with some sexual innuendo thrown in, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak like that about Annie. He had no idea how to sum it all up and present it in a way the the Guv would understand and, if he was lucky, accept without too much mockery. Nothing came to mind. 

‘Nothing, Guv,’ he said, flatly, shifting his gaze to look out of the window. He didn’t think it would be enough, but how was he supposed to confide to Gene his innermost thoughts and feelings, confused and unbelievable as they were? People already gave him looks when he forgot that he was supposed to be from Hyde, or mentioned TV programmes that nobody had ever heard of. Annie was the only one who had heard the whole, crazy story and, bless her, she had kept it to herself.

As predicted, the Guv wasn’t ready to let it lie. ‘Doesn’t seem like nothing. You two are quite the topic of choice, these days.’ He spoke with a slightly sniffy tone, like a disapproving landlady. Sam shrugged out at the passing warehouses.

‘Well, it is. Nothing. People like to talk round here.’

 

There was more silence, still feeling too heavy. They drew up at some traffic lights, and the Guv looked over at him properly. He had a considering look on his face, weighing up Sam’s response. Sam tried not to, but found himself looking back aggressively. 

‘What?’ he snapped. Gene said nothing for a little longer, then gave his own one-shouldered shrug.

‘Don’t know what to believe about you, Sammy-boy. You’re a mystery, aren’t yer?’

Sam sighed. ‘That’s me Guv. One big mystery wrapped in an enigma.’

‘Misery wrapped in an enema, more like,’ Gene shot back. Sam didn’t react at all. He was feeling thoroughly pissed off, he had troubles enough without getting dragged out on a pointless excursion that seemed mainly to be a front for the Guv prying into his personal life. Since when did Gene want to have a heart to heart with him, anyway?

Well, he supposed Friday had been a bit of a heart to heart... but that’s not how it was supposed to go. You didn’t automatically have to tell someone all your troubles just because they spilled their own on a drunken night at the pub. He was working his way into a right fury here, but he was beyond talking himself down. Bugger Gene, he was getting nothing.

 

 

The lights changed and Gene roared off with his customary lack of finesse. He was surprised by Sam’s obvious anger. He was only asking a few questions, for the love of God, it wasn’t the Spanish Inquisition. He hadn’t even got any answers, that was the worst of it. No crimes to punish and no answers from his own DI. Not a good state of affairs. The silence in the car wasn’t the usual easy silence of people who had nothing that needed said, it was most definitely an Atmosphere. Gene hated Atmospheres.

He spared another glance across and was rewarded with Tyler’s profile, eyes fixed out of the window, mouth drawn up into a scowl. Bloody hell, he was in a right strop. This business with Cartwright must be getting to him. Gene brought his eyes back to the road, turning past yet more warehouses and cursing the absence of anything to do. Movement caught his eye and he looked over.

‘Oh look!’ he said, with false cheer. ‘It’s our pal Briggs!’ This drew some reaction from Tyler, who looked out at the man walking along ahead of them. He said nothing, so Gene carried on.

‘Let’s stop for a chat, shall we?’ Matching his actions to his words, he sped up until they had just passed Briggs, then slammed on the brakes and hopped out of the car. Briggs was a fence, and one who could usually be counted on to spill any nefarious activities that had somehow gone under the CID’s radar. Sam rolled down his window, refusing to jump just because the Guv said so.

 

‘Hello Briggs,’ said Gene, sauntering up to the man. ‘How’s business?’

Briggs looked at the Guv, eyes wide and looking like a rabbit in the headlights. Then, without warning, he turned and ran back the way he’d come, casting one frightened look over his shoulder as he went. 

‘OI!’ Gene roared, setting off in pursuit.

‘Shit,’ Sam hissed, grabbing the radio. ‘Alpha One, this is eight seven zero, Tyler. Leaving the vehicle, setting off in pursuit, Chatsworth Road.’ He was half out of the car before he’d even finished, and didn’t wait for Phyllis to respond before he dashed off down the street. He hoped the Guv had taken the keys out of the Cortina. He caught up to the pursuer as Briggs ducked down an alley. Neck and neck with the Guv, Sam followed, his whole being focused on the chase. He could hear Gene panting, now just behind him, and turned the corner to see the door of an abandoned building, still swinging from being slammed open. He followed without hesitation. He could hear footsteps but couldn’t decide whether their quarry had gone off up the staircase to the right or straight across the now-empty factory floor and through the doorway on the opposite side. He slowed down, trying to listen, but the echoes in this place made it impossible. Gene had come to a halt at his back. Both stood where they were, breathing hard and looking around for any evidence of Briggs’ whereabouts. He’d either stopped running or got away, because the sound of his footsteps had gone. For all they knew, the door on the other side of the building led straight back out into the street.

 

Sam looked at Gene for instruction. There was none forthcoming. He gestured up the stairs nodding at Gene, then at the door while holding a hand on his own chest. The message was obvious - let’s split up. Gene shook his head, and all Sam’s anger came flooding back.

‘Why not?’ he asked in an angry whisper. ‘He’s in here somewhere.’ Gene’s face started to show familiar signs of his own anger.

‘Because I said so, that’s why not and that’s good enough for you, Tyler,’ he retorted, in a similarly low register. He glared at his DI, daring him to challenge him.

‘Well what ground-breaking plan do you have then, Guv?’ He pronounced the title like an insult, loading it with sarcasm. Gene’s lips pursed as he glowered, and he took a big step nearer to Sam, not quite in his face yet but not far off it.

‘I plan to listen for Briggs making a break for it, which he will because he’s shit scared, and then I plan on catching him and beating the crap out of him for wasting my time, which he probably is.’ His flushed face leaned closer and he locked eyes with Sam, inviting disagreement.

‘You’d probably get a bit further with that plan if you stopped talking and actually used your ears for a change,’ the retort came, neither man whispering any longer, and Gene took the last half step that put him right in Tyler’s space, hands still lowered but shoulders squared and maintaining his hostile glare. Sam shifted his stance just a little, preparing for the inevitable shove that would start today’s fist fight.

‘You little...’

‘Oh what? What now? Fairy? Poof? Smug git? Or are you going for something original today? I can hardly wait to hear...’

 

He was cut off by a blow to the stomach; he should have been expecting it but damn it, the man was quick. He never gave anything away in his eyes, that was the trouble. This thought went across Sam’s head in a split second as he bent forwards, winded. He spun himself to catch the knee that was aimed at his kidneys. He grabbed with both hands and twisted, sending Gene off balance and stumbling. Sam kept his hold on the other man’s leg and pushed with the considerable might of the anger he’d been building up for the last half hour or so. Gene toppled backwards, falling against the metal railings of the staircase. He sprang forward again, running at Sam with eyes flashing, and landed a clumsy but solid punch on his jaw. Sam felt lucky that the blow was left handed, it had been enough to make his head swim and a shot with the right would have taken him down like a ton of bricks. He tucked his head in behind his hands and blocked the follow up punch, then aimed a blow of his own at Gene’s chin. He found his hand caught, arm twisted round and up his back, and his whole body forced round and across the floor until he was pressed against the handrail, wincing. Gene had got him yet again, and Sam cursed out loud, then grunted as his arm was pushed further up between his shoulder blades.

 

‘Are you done?’ asked Gene, his breath hot on Sam’s neck as he stood in close again. ‘Cos I could do this all day.’ Sam usually knew better than to struggle, but not today. He leaned his weight on the handrail and used the purchase to stamp on the Guv’s foot, hard. For once, he took Gene by surprise, and the pressure on his arm let up. He spun round and shoved, meaning to create a bit of distance. He got half a step, which wasn’t really enough but he’d take it. Working fast, he ducked in under the right hook Gene was throwing at him and hooked his right leg around behind the Guv’s knee, pushing on his shoulders. The Guv pivoted around Sam’s leg, as planned, and fell to the ground. The only problem was that Sam hadn’t managed to get himself out of the way in time and lost his footing; Gene grabbed at his leather jacket and dragged him down to the concrete next to him. He fell badly, winding himself again, and lay there wheezing.

 

Neither man made a move to get up, or to continue their fight. Even if they did have a scrap more often than Sam could really give credit to, they at least had the dignity not to roll around on the floor like schoolboys. Eventually, Gene said, ‘Not bad for you, Sammy-boy,’ drew his cigarettes from his pocket and proceeded to light one. Sam rolled his head to look at him, and saw a calm face, mouth sending streams of smoke towards the grey ceiling. Sam had no reply to this grudging compliment, and no breath to say it with even if he had. He rolled his head back and stared straight up. After a minute or two, he heard footsteps, and Briggs shuffled over, looking down at the two men. 

‘Er... Are you looking for me?’ he asked, still looking frightened but with an added level of confusion over the sight of CID’s finest lying in a half-tangled heap on the floor. He must have been hiding somewhere right next to them, Sam thought. _What an embarrassment._

‘Yeh - give us a hand up, would you?’ said Gene, holding out one hand to the man. The fence took it, nervously, and helped the Guv to his feet. Once there, he dusted himself off and took a final draw of his cigarette, pitching it across the room when he was done. Then, without warning, he grabbed Briggs by the lapels and lifted him so he could shout face to face.

‘What are you playing at, running? When I want to talk to you, you say ‘how high?’, you got that?’ Sam opened his mouth to correct him, but thought better of it. ‘I ought to charge you with causing an affray! Now you tell me what you know, you little prick, or I’ll have you banged up quicker than you can say ‘police brutality’.’

Briggs was quaking now. ‘I don’t know nuffing Guv I swear! I only ran cos you was chasing me!’

 

Sam actually believed him, and Gene obviously did too since he put him back on his feet. Briggs was a squealer, you only had to look at him crosswise for him to confess everything he knew; being held off the ground by an angry Gene Hunt would have had him spilling his guts in double time.

‘Nothing doing then? No jobs you might want to drop us a hint about, on the down low and out of the goodness of your heart?’

Briggs shook his head vehemently. ‘I’ve got nuffing!’ he said again.

‘Well piss off then,’ said the Guv, and Briggs didn’t need to be told twice, and scampered off out the door. Gene turned to find Sam still on the ground, sitting up now. He offered his hand, and Sam took it, hauling himself to his feet but not unwary of a fresh attack. You couldn’t put anything past the Guv, not if you had any sense. They stood facing each other, Sam tensed and Gene casual, hands in pockets.

 

‘Feeling better?’ he asked mildly. Sam, who was definitely not feeling better, gave him a hard look. Gene knew the younger man didn’t get the same sense of satisfaction from a good fight as he did, though he couldn’t understand it. With any other bloke that would be them back to an even keel again. With Sam, you had to talk about things, always talking. Never an apology though; Gene hadn’t gone soft.

‘D’you wanna take another pop at me?’ he asked, not above goading Tyler when he was in a bad mood. It briefly looked as though this time the suggestion might be appealing , but he kept himself in check.

‘I think we’ve got better things to do than scrap in some abandoned building,’ he gave back, voice thick with superiority. Gene turned the corners of his mouth down, a facial shrug.

‘I suppose we might have, by now. Still, though - not bad.’ This praise, faint and inappropriate as it was, actually seemed to appease Sam.

‘Yeah, well... My Taekwondo instructor would say otherwise.’ He felt his jaw tenderly then flexed his wrist with a slight grimace.

Gene had no idea what Tyler was on about. It wasn’t good form to always go about admitting your ignorance though. He did what he always did, and pretended Tyler hadn’t said anything.

‘Ready to get back to the car?’

‘If it’s still there,’ Sam replied, smirking a bit at the thought of Gene losing his precious Cortina to a joyrider.

‘Of course it’s still there you prick,’ he snapped, tugging the keys out of his pocket and shaking them. ‘Even if I didn’t have these, which I do, nobody would nick my motor.’

Sam nodded, knowing the Guv was right, and looked down at the ground. Without realising it, he’d adopted the other man’s posture, hands in pockets and standing at ease. Gene had noticed, and approved. Sam had mentioned this thing in the pub one night; mirroring, he called it. He’d been telling Chris about getting on with birds and how to know if they liked you and all that. Apparently when people had respect for each other, they would unconsciously match their body language. Something to do with how we were all monkeys once and subconscious urges. Gene had tuned in and out of the discussion, bored with all the chatter and waiting for the good bit. Anyway, he could see Tyler doing it now and he approved; if you didn’t have respect, you didn’t have anything.

 

He was pretending to himself that Sam hadn’t used the word ‘fancied’ and not ‘respected’.

 

They walked back to the car, which was predictably exactly where they’d left it. Sam took a slight, uneasy pride when Gene limped on his first few steps. They climbed back into their accustomed seats, and got back on the road. Sam radioed in to Phyllis, letting her know they were back in the vehicle and travelling.

Silence reigned again at first, though a more natural absence of talk than it had been before. Sam started to think he’d got away with not talking about Annie any more, with which he was more than happy. He leaned forward to turn on the radio when the Guv spoke.

‘Look, Tyler, I have to know what’s going on with Cartwright. Can’t have her batting her eyelashes at you all day and not doing any work.’

Sam sat back, sighing openly. He didn’t otherwise respond, so Gene tried again.

‘I’m not trying to give you a hard time. Just tell me if you two have been bumping uglies and we can say no more about it.’

Sam whirled round as much as he could in the confined space. ‘Would you just bloody leave it? Nothing is happening. Nothing has happened.’ He paused. ‘Nothing will ever happen.’

Gene heard something in his tone that surprised him. He knew Tyler could make a mountain out of an anthill but he would have thought he was above getting hung up over a piece of skirt, at least. Someone had his bollocks in a vice, anyway, though he was starting to wonder if it was Cartwright after all.

‘Knock you back, did she?’ It was a cheap shot, but he was tired of the gentle approach. Well, gentler, anyway. Sam’s eyes flashed again.

‘Would you just _leave_ it?’

‘No I will not leave it, Tyler, I order you to tell me what the bloody hell is going on! _Now_!’ Gene’s roar filled the cramped space, making Sam blink involuntarily.

 

Sam had no idea what was going to get him out of this. He couldn’t explain what was going on, not when he didn’t know himself. It was all so confusing when he tried to think about it that he invariably had to pour himself a drink, then another, then usually a third. He was still angry with the Guv, but he was beginning to realise that he might actually be more angry at life than anything else, and using Gene as a convenient target. Even as he thought this, he felt his expression change, less rage and more sadness.

_Jesus, am I going to cry? In front of Gene? Pull yourself together, man._

He got a hold of himself, looking straight ahead out of the windscreen again instead of over at Gene. He took a deep breath, then let it out when he still had no idea what to say. On his second attempt, he managed something:

‘I like Annie, and I think she probably likes me too...’

‘Very good, Sherlock,’ came the interruption. Sam ignored it.

‘...but there is nothing going on except a normal, friendly relationship between two colleagues.’ This time Gene snorted. Sam was exasperated but the anger of before had definitely dissipated. He struggled again for the right words.

‘So, you can forget about it, because nothing is ever going to happen. My situation is too complicated to get involved with anyone.’ He gazed morosely out of the window, hating this conversation, hating the truths it was making him face up to.

 

‘Whaddyou mean, situation? You haven’t got the clap, have you?’ Sam rolled his eyes. God help us, the man was determined to wind him up.

‘I’m not gonna dignify that with a response,’ he said, primly. Gene was lighting another fag, didn’t reply.

‘It’s just, there’s someone else. Kind of. Well, there used to be. And, you know, I’ll be going back to Hyde before long, can’t commit to anything. Anyone.’ Gene looked over at him, eyes shielded with smoke. Sam bore his gaze for as long as he could without returning it, but found his head drawn around nonetheless. He thought the Guv might finally be ready to let it lie.

‘This someone else...’ he started.

‘What?’ Sam asked, not snapping now but definitely testy.

 

There was a long pause.

 

‘Was it a bloke?’

Gene wasn’t sure what had made him ask that, what had brought it to mind, but suddenly it seemed to him that maybe all the times he’d wound Tyler up about being light on his loafers, he might not actually have been wrong. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel if that was true. He turned his eyes back to the road, continuing their aimless drive, not heading back to the station yet. He could feel Sam’s surprise at the question. He still hadn’t answered.

‘No. Not a bloke,’ he said, finally. His tone was still nippy, but he didn’t seem to feel the need to bluster about it, shout and swear like any other of CID would have done. As if it was a reasonable question, almost. As if the answer might have been yes.

 

Gene tried to figure out what he really thought here. Everyone gave Tyler abuse about being a girly nonce but he’d never thought it was actually true. Alright, he had some funny ideas, dressed like a twat and never talked about shagging with the rest of them, but you could tell he was looking at women, usually when he thought nobody was paying attention. Gene had never seen him look at another man that way.

Well, maybe apart from...

Gene felt a flutter of unease that was absolutely not tinged with interest.

‘Alright Sammy-boy, I believe yer. I’ll leave it out, about Cartwright.’

Sam spread his hands, leaning his head back on the seat and rolling his eyes heavenward. ’Thank you,’ he said, not sounding in the least grateful.

‘Let’s get back and see if there hasn’t been some lovely crime or other for us to sort out.’

 

Saying that, Gene drove them back to the station.


	5. Friday on My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long, dull week at CID ends with the boys back in the pub, and Sam's mind wanders in an unplanned direction.

The rest of the week had continued as quiet and slow as Monday morning. There were a couple of robberies, a noise complaint that Sam was sure Phyllis only sent them on to get them out from under her feet, and a stabbing that took no time to sort out, given that the culprit was found at the murder scene, blade in hand, saying ‘It was an accident,’ rather feebly. As it happened, he’d only managed to hit the guy in the arm, which might have been the accidental part. He was banged up before he could say anything else, leaving a paper trail that took ten times as long to deal with.

On Wednesday, a call had come through from the Super to say they had a missing persons case that required Hunt’s personal attention. His twin nieces hadn’t been seen since the day before, and he was assuming the worst, having it in his head that they’d been scooped up by a sex trafficker. There were two groups suspected of that kind of thing in the city, though there had never been any hard evidence against them. Ray and Chris were sent to stake out a known residence of one group’s ringleaders, while the Guv and Sam took the other. They had sat outside, in Gene’s car instead of one of the unmarked ones as protocol would suggest (a detail Sam had been unable to refrain from pointing out, and which Gene roundly ignored as expected), from Wednesday to Friday, passing the detail to a second set of officers at night. The suspect went out to the shops a few times, on one notable occasion stopping in at the pub for several hours where he consumed Guinness, one pint of, Scotch, four measures of and packet of pork scratchings, one. This was by way of being the highlight of the stakeout, and both men were bored stiff by Friday afternoon, despite the potential gravity of the situation.

 

‘This is a waste of time,’ said Gene, yet again. He was restless, hated being cooped up like this all hours. Ray and Chris had had nothing more to report than they did, less if anything. The plods were carrying out their own missing persons investigation, with public appeals and the usual leg work. There were no leads, and things were looking grim. Sam tried to remind the Guv of this. 

‘There’s two girls missing, here. Show some respect,’ he scolded. Gene fixed him with a look.

‘Exactly, there’s two girls missing, and we’re just sitting here on our arses!’ He had a point. Sam had been skeptical about this detail from the start, and as time passed his suspicions seemed to be confirmed. The Guv lit another cigarette, either oblivious to or ignoring Sam’s wrinkled nose, and took a long draw before firing out a stream of blue smoke.

‘Go out and get us something to eat. I’ll hold the fort.’ The heavy sarcasm in his tone didn’t go unnoted, but Sam wasn’t as needled by the request as he might normally be; it would be alright to stretch his legs, get a bite to eat. ‘Alright,’ he said, amicably enough. ‘Usual?’ Gene nodded, staring over at the house and smoking his fag.

 

Sam stepped out of the car and walked off towards the nearest greasy spoon. A roll and anything fried for the Guv, and whatever they had that wasn’t dripping in saturated fat for himself, maybe a couple of cans of coke. What a week. What a dull week. Times like this were hard, there was so little to keep his mind active. The radio seemed to speak to him much more often. The Test Card Girl hadn’t been so bad lately, though, for which he could only be grateful.

He and the Guv hadn’t come to blows again since Monday, which was something else to be grateful for. In fact they’d been back to normal after the whole debacle, spending the hours in the car between comfortable silence and inconsequential chat. Sam hadn’t joined him in the pub through the week, preferring to keep his beer intake at a sane level, but this hadn’t been taken amiss. He was also sure the Guv had kept his word with regard to Annie - nobody was singing playground rhymes at him, anyway. There had been no further questions about it, either, or any repeat of that odd line of enquiry the Guv had touched on at the end of their conversation.

 

‘ _This someone else...’_

‘ _What?’_

_..._

‘ _Was it a bloke?’_

 

Sam was used to, if not happy about, his status as the ‘queer’ of the office. It was mostly not bad natured, except when it came to Ray, and he had to admit that he was different to the other men. Nobody really seemed to believe he was gay, though, or he was sure he’d have had more fights on his hands. The Guv’s question had come out of the blue, and he’d seemed genuinely curious instead of utterly disapproving. He was unpredictable, was Gene.

Sam had always been comfortable in his own sexuality, and been impatient with that dated ‘backs to the wall!’ attitude that some other men had. He wasn’t gay, though, regardless of how open minded he was. The thought of being with another man in that way - skin to skin, a flat chest instead of curves - did nothing for him. The thought of the smell of aftershave instead of perfume, coarse hair instead of soft skin, strong hands in his hair... None of it ticked any boxes. In fact, he was exploring the thought now more than he had in years. A certain hint of smoke appeared in his imaginings, a glimpse of sandy blond hair, the taste of whiskey... He cut himself off there, feeling like he’d just been blindsided by his own subconscious. _And not for the first time, either_ , he thought humourlessly. How else could you explain the characters he’d chosen to surround him with here in the coma dream? A load of Neanderthals and a bird he couldn’t get off with. When he woke up he’d definitely need to see a good psychiatrist.

 

As he came back from the cafe with two chip butties (saturated fat was high on the priorities of that particular chef) and a couple of cans in his pockets, he returned to those musings. He looked at them carefully, as you might prod a sore tooth with your tongue. He really didn’t fancy the Guv, did he? Is this is what bi-curious meant? He hated that word, it always seemed like a word people used to make themselves seem interesting. Maybe he’d been harsh. And maybe, since none of this was real anyway, it was alright to have some unusual ideas. Like when you had a sex dream about someone really inappropriate, someone you’d never fancy in a million years. Yeah, this was exactly like that. He couldn’t be blamed for what his subconscious threw at him. Rationalising done, he stored the train of thought away, as though packing glassware into a box.

 

He was back at the car, and slid into the passenger seat.

‘Anything?’ he asked, passing Gene his lunch and fishing the cans out of his jacket.

‘Less action than a eunuch in a brothel,’ said the Guv gloomily. He took a Coke from Sam, sneered at it. ‘What is this, a children’s party? Are you going to do balloon animals?’ He dropped the offending article in the back seat, looking out a hipflask instead. He took a sip and offered it to Sam, who declined with what he felt was admirable restraint; there was no point giving Gene a lecture on drinking during working hours, and behind the wheel of a car to boot. He just didn’t care.

They ate in silence, both staring over at the flat. Occasionally the suspect passed by one of the windows, at least proving that he was there. Sam washed the last of his lunch down with a swallow of Coke and sat holding the can, missing the drinks holders in his own car, not to mention the CD player, heated seats and, perhaps most of all, air freshener. The Guv chased his lunch with another sip of whiskey. He hated these stakeouts, would much rather be storming in the front door and looking for evidence, but this one had to be by the book. If Gene ever met the ponce who wrote the bloody book he’d kick him into next week. This was not proper policing. He looked over at Sam in the passenger seat. It was blokes like him that wrote the books, blokes who had no understanding of the real nature of the job. Still, Tyler was proving to be a good copper despite all that, and the Guv took the credit for showing him that not everything could be solved in the collator’s office. You couldn’t accuse him of being all mouth and no trousers, either; he still had some bruises from Monday’s fight. When he had to, Tyler could produce the goods.

 

He looked back out the windscreen again, sighing with the frustration of it all and leaning forward over the steering wheel, arms folded. _What a waste of bloody time_ , he thought, keeping it to himself. He was sick of saying it anyway, knew it was a pointless complaint. They were here until they got a break, or another lead came in. Might as well try to make the most of it. 

‘Right, I’m going for a kip,’ he said. Sam looked over at him, eyebrows almost meeting his hairline. ‘Well, we both know nothing’s doing. Wake me up if something happens.’ So saying, he leaned back into his seat again, arms folded across his chest this time, and shut his eyes.

Sam looked back out of the window, as if he might see some sympathetic onlooker who could share a commiserating nod, then back at the man in the driver’s seat. Unbelievable, he was actually going to sleep on the job and leave Sam here on his own to keep watch. Of all the nerve... He shook his head and brought his focus back in on the block of flats. At least one of them could be professional about this. He couldn’t help but continue to spare glances over at Gene, who was soon breathing deeply. When he started snoring Sam turned his eyes to the roof of the car, appalled that this is what his career had come to. He was a DCI back home, in charge, the one making the plans. Here, he was sat in a brown Ford Cortina with a man who thought nothing of taking an afternoon nap on the job, keeping surveillance on the world’s dullest criminal. Unbelievable.

 

Still, he couldn’t help but laugh. The situation was so ridiculous. He looked over again at Gene, now letting out a gentle whistling snore through pursed lips, and snorted. He was a different breed, Gene Hunt. A law unto himself. The Guv’s face relaxed as he slept, the lines softened, and Sam looked for a little longer than he knew was safe. If Gene woke up to find Sam watching him sleep he’d never hear the end of it, and probably never get to set foot (or arse) in the Cortina again. Still, he lingered a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of the Guv’s arms over his chest, the peaceful expression. He looked so... well... vulnerable. He remembered himself and looked back over to the flat, with a quick glance up and down the street to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Still nothing. With a quiet sigh he leaned back in the seat himself, resigned to another long afternoon without even a read of the paper or a walk round the block to break it up. Great.

 

A couple of hours later, the radio crackled to life. ‘Eight-seven-zero, come in.’ Gene’s eyes snapped open and he had the radio in hand almost before Sam could take in what was happening.

‘Hunt,’ he replied tersely. Sam was amazed by the transition from out cold to alert and poised for action.

‘Stand down Guv. They’ve shown up.’

‘What?’ he snapped, raising his voice.

‘Walked in the house half an hour ago, a lovebite and a hangover each. They thought they’d run away to London but it turned out the streets weren’t paved with gold.’

The two coppers looked at each other as this information was relayed. Sam shut his eyes, mouth flattened in annoyance. Neither spoke for so long that Phyllis came back on.

‘You there Guv? Boss?’

‘Phyllis, if anyone is looking for me, I will be in the pub.’ Gene returned the radio to the cradle harder than necessary.

‘Roger that, Guv,’ she replied, sounded singularly unsurprised. Gene turned back to Sam.

‘Bloody kids. What a waste...’

‘...of time,’ Sam finished with him. ‘At least they’re safe, eh?’

‘They wouldn’t be if I was their father, I’d tan their hides for them,’ Gene replied, clearly furious. He started the engine and Sam barely had time to brace himself before the car was thrown into reverse and sped backwards down the street, performing what felt like a handbrake turn to face them in the direction of the Railway Arms. Gene floored it again, Sam hanging on while trying to pretend not to, and screeched off through lines of washing, scattering unwary pedestrians and bellowing offensive language all the way.

 

Usually Sam would be appalled at the suggestion of knocking off at 4pm on a Friday but, after the week they’d had, he didn’t have it in him to argue. He would be glad to draw a close to this week, and if he could do so in the pub with a few pints he would be all the happier. No Scotch though, not after last Friday. Well, ‘none’ might be a bit unrealistic but less, anyway. Gene parked up behind the bar and they both climbed out, gratefully stretching their legs and backs. The Guv leaned on the roof.

‘You coming in then?’

‘Yeah, I think I will.’

‘Not going to quote me chapter and verse about clocking off times?’

‘Not this time, Guv.’ Sam gave him a half smile. ‘Think we deserve a break.’

Gene seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, stepped away and slammed the car door, heading off to the pub without a word or a glance back. Sam followed in the wake of the Guv’s billowing coat.

 

The bar was quiet again at this time. It’d get busier in an hour or so as people clocked off and headed down after their shifts, but for now it was sedate. Nelson gave them his broadest grin as they walked in. That was one of Nelson’s great skills, thought Sam, he always made you feel like he was a little surprised and very glad to see you. A barman’s talent if ever there was one.

‘Mister Hunt. Sam, man brahv.’ He nodded at each in turn. ‘What’s your poison this fine afternoon?’

‘Pint of bitter,’ said Gene, making his way up to the bar. Sam nodded.

‘Same.’

Nelson set about pouring the pints. ‘Long week this week?’ His accent stretched out the word ‘long’ in a way that seemed very fitting. Both men nodded, Gene lighting a cigarette as he did.

‘That’s an understatement, Nelson,’ Sam offered, ‘like you wouldn’t believe.’

Nelson chuckled as he finished the second pint.

‘Thirsty work?’

‘And no mistake,’ said Gene, reaching for one of the glasses. Nelson handed the other to Sam, then stood back a little from the bar, a hint of expectancy about him. Sam looked at him, nonplussed, then over at Gene, who was busy with his pint. Eventually he looked back, then glanced at Nelson, before returning to Sam. He jerked his head towards the bar, and when Sam looked back again Nelson met his gaze. He suddenly got it.

‘Oh I do beg your pardon, Guv, allow me...’ The sarcasm rolled off his tongue as he fished his wallet out, but he didn’t really mean anything by it. After all the Scotch last week, the last thing Sam could stint over was buying the man a drink.

‘Good man,’ said Gene, letting the tone wash over him and the beer wash down his throat. He continued to lean on the bar, alternately hunching and straightening his shoulders to ease the cramped feeling from them. It was worse for him than for Sam, he thought. This was one situation where being a skinny shortarse was an advantage. You could put Tyler in a single wardrobe and he wouldn’t be cramped, though he might come out with a new outfit and complaining that the shoes didn’t match the coat. He straightened up again and puffed his fag, glad it was all finally over and looking forward to getting a great quantity of beer in his stomach before he switched over to the Scotch. You had to line the stomach, that was the key thing.

 

He watched as Tyler paid for their drinks, buying Nelson one while he was about it. Nelson poured himself a measure of rum, voicing his gratitude. ‘I don’t normally drink when I’m workin’, you know that of course,’ he said, giving them a conspiratorial wink.

‘Nor me, Nelson, very wise,’ said Gene, deadpan, clinking glasses with first Nelson, then Sam. Sam tried to maintain a serious look but a smirk broke through as they raised their glasses, then drank. Gene kept his straight face on, but smiled inside. It was good to be in the pub. As company went, these two weren’t bad either. If you’d told him a few years ago he’d be standing here with a coloured bloke and a suspected poof, he’d never have believed you. Much less would he have believed that they would, in fact, be his first choice of companions. _Times change_ , he thought. They’d changed for the better, too.

 

The three of them stood at the bar for a while, drinking and making small talk - football, the power cuts, how Nelson’s business was going. Sam was feeling the effects of the beer, but in a comfortable way. He’d been wrong earlier when he thought he’d surrounded himself with Neanderthals; the Guv was old fashioned, but he wasn’t as intolerant as he made out. Alright, he was rude to and about everyone, all the time, but a lot of it was bluster. He had to keep up a front, if he wanted to maintain the respect of the rest of the squad. Times were different here, rules were different. He looked at Gene and Nelson laughing over some story and felt a rush of affection. If he had to be here, he might as well be here with these two, enjoying the beer, even if it was imaginary. Better than sitting in the cold flat, putting off the moment that he went to bed to dream those strange, horrifying and above all very real dreams.

He was brought out of his reverie by a nudge from his DCI. ‘Come on Dorothy,’ said Gene, ‘it’s your round.’ He stumped up happily. He realised that it was now after clocking off time, but the usual suspects hadn’t joined them in the bar. Some of CID had come in, sure enough, but taken tables on their own.

‘Where’s Chris and Ray?’ he asked, taking his change.

Gene blew out the smoke from yet another cigarette. ‘Ray’s sister’s friend’s getting married. Him and Chris are trying to get some bridesmaid action at the reception.’

Sam mulled it over. ‘What, Ray took Chris to a wedding?’

This sank in, and he started laughing at the idea of Ray taking Chris on a date by accident, and wondering why the women didn’t seem interested. The Guv and Nelson joined in.

‘I suppose he did, yeah,’ Gene said, through the laughter. ‘Spose they might not get the kind of action they were hoping for, eh?’ This brought a fresh round of hilarity. That changed the tone of the night a bit; Sam had assumed that they would be joined by the usual crowd later on, and was pleased that the Guv had actually chosen to spend the evening with him. Not that he should be too smug about it, probably no force on Earth could have kept Gene out of the pub tonight; a lack of drinking partners would never be a good excuse not to stop in for a pint or six. He should also cut that kind of thinking out right now, before he started a replay of last Friday. There was no need to spend two Saturdays in a row wondering if he’d made a move, however subtle, on his boss. His very _male_ boss.

 

‘Right, I’ve had enough of stretching my legs here,’ said the Guv, putting his fag out in the ashtray instead of on the carpet, in deference to Nelson. Sam’s heart sank a little. ‘Nelson, give us a deck of cards over.’ It rose again. They weren’t leaving, in fact quite the opposite - the Guv sounded like he was going to get settled in. Nelson produced a dog-eared pack and Gene lifted them and tilted them towards Sam.

‘Let’s win some money off these soft bastards, eh?’ he asked, nodding towards a table of three of the other coppers in the bar. Sam nodded, swallowing his mouthful of beer.

‘Sounds good to me, Guv.’

‘Good luck, gentlemen,’ Nelson called, as he polished off the bar behind them.

 

The others seemed amenable to the suggestion; Jackson in particular was a betting man and thought himself a bit of a card sharp. They played several games of poker, proving Jackson resoundingly wrong, with breaks in between for bar duty and the necessary visits to the bogs. There was no need to make conversation while you played, of course; generally there was some of what Sam would call ‘trash talk’ and Gene would call ‘taking the piss’, but it was a serious business that didn’t invite chatter. Sam and Gene had sat on opposite sides of the round table, and Sam was finding himself a bit distracted from the game. The decision earlier that it was fine for him to have certain... feelings... seemed to have been liberating. Not to mention all those pints on an empty stomach, of course.

Gene had the best poker face you could hope not to encounter. His blue eyes gave nothing away. He didn’t twitch or fidget with his cigarette, but took evenly spaced, long draws between plays. He didn’t shuffle and reorganise his cards like some of the men; like Sam did himself, in fact. He didn’t betray a single emotion, with only occasional looks at the other players when their attention was buried in their own hand. This let Sam sneak many a glance over his own cards, taking in the rough skin, slightly over-long hair and purposeful movements as though for the first time. His poker game was suffering for it, but Sam had to admit that he was enjoying this, letting down the guards in his mind and seeing what cropped up. He’d never paid attention to another man in this way before, and the novelty of it was a bit of a thrill in itself. He watched Gene’s eyes as they flicked over the cards. Those hard blue eyes; they were so difficult to read, almost impossible most of the time. Sometimes, though, when a joke hit the right spot or the conversation turned to City’s former glories, you could see something else in them. A light and a heat behind the cynicism. Those eyes had probably parted a few sets of legs in their time, thought Sam. All exclusively female legs, of course.

 

Gene shuffled the pack and started a new deal, cigarette half-smoked and safely tucked in the corner of his mouth. The Guv’s mouth, so ready with criticism and profanity. Sam had been on the receiving end of both, and of countless derogatory nicknames into the bargain. He’d never really noticed before, though, the soft way the lips pursed together at rest. Sometimes it was damn near a pout, even. Some might describe that as kissable, but Tyler wouldn’t be among them. Things hadn’t got that far. The deal had come to an end and Sam was slow in lifting his cards. The Guv had noticed.

‘Alright Tyler, I know I’m fascinating but d’you think we could start?’

Shit. Rumbled. He tried not to react, reaching forward for his cards as casually as he could manage.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Guv.’

This caused a slight stir round the table, a couple of high-pitched ‘ooooh!’s from the other men. The Guv himself took a final draw of his cigarette and blew the smoke directly over at Sam. ‘If I was flatterin myself, Tyler, I’d have Britt Eckland in mind, not your scrawny arse’. This met with rough laughter and some nudges round the table. Sam only narrowed his eyes and tilted his head with an expression meant to convey his contempt. Inwardly, though, he was embarrassed at being caught out. This was stupid, what was he hoping to gain from ogling the very man he’d been paranoid about chatting up only days before? Bi-curious? Bollocks. If he didn’t know for a fact that he’d banged his head he’d be worried.

 

He picked up his game a bit, winning back some of the coins he’d thrown into the ashtray in the centre over the next few hands. One of the others left with apologies and much mockery over his inability to take the heat. The remaining four played on until Jackson huffily declared himself out for good, then the cards were finally shuffled back into the pack. Jackson and his partner left the pub with lighter pockets and heavier hearts. The Guv leaned back in his chair, finishing the pint glass in front of him.

‘You look like the cat who got the cream, Guv,’ said Sam, looking over at Gene’s self-satisfied expression.

‘Not just the cream Tyler, the whole ruddy dairy. Those boys will never learn, you can’t beat the Gene Genie at poker.’ He leaned back, with the air of a man who has done a good day’s work. At some point between games he’d rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie, undoing the top buttons on his shirt. He was a picture of contentment. He gave Sam an unprompted smile, slate eyes shining. ‘Let’s have a Scotch to celebrate. I will allow you to do the honours’.

 Sam matched actions to the Guv’s words, and ambled back to the bar where Nelson waited. Two glasses of Scotch richer (he’d known he could never last the night without having at least one), he made his way back and handed one over. They both relaxed into their wooden seats.

 

‘A successful night then, eh?’ Sam suggested.

‘Too right Sammy-boy. Good winnings, good booze. Good company. The week is definitely looking up.’ He smiled with his eyes, looking over the top of his glass. It happened again, their eyes met and locked. Gene’s words echoed in Sam’s mind - _Good company_. There it was. The Guv really did want to spend time with him, enjoyed it and looked for it just as Sam looked for it in return. The full force of his connection with his DCI came home to him; here was a man he wanted to pass his time with, spending day after day at close quarters and never tiring of it. Here was a man who he thought about every day, who could make him feel a vast range of conflicting emotions in an unprecedentedly short space of time. Here was a man who, despite his obvious flaws and faults, had been a rock to Sam in this strange new existence, had literally saved his life, and who could without question be relied on to save it again.

In that moment, as he looked into the eyes of the man opposite him, Sam could no longer keep the lid on that box of thoughts from earlier. He had to face up to a troubling realisation.

_Oh God. I fancy Gene Hunt._


	6. What's Really Happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sam's mind works overtime, we get a glmpse into Gene's thoughts - which are running along a not-so-dissimilar track...

Tyler had been a right strange one tonight. All week he'd been normal, or at least approaching normal, but since they'd sat down to play a bit of poker the man had been distracted, looking over at him in a way that he obviously thought was subtle. Gene wondered when he'd realise that you couldn't keep anything from a good Chief Inspector.

That said, he did feel like he was missing something, here. The way Sam was looking at him now, his expression carefully blank, it was like last Friday all over again. Alright, he'd just admitted to enjoying the lad's company, which was practically like a proposal of marriage coming from him, but he didn't have to get all Dorothy about it. In fact, he could almost swear that Tyler was blushing. How becoming, he thought scathingly. He realised that he was still maintaining that eye contact and broke it to look for another ciggie.

 

He'd mulled over the events of last Friday more than he might care to admit during this long, drawn out week. Spending so much time in the car with Tyler obviously had a lot to do with it, but then that conversation at the start of the week had added its own share of mysteries. When he thought about touching Sam's hand once to refill his whiskey glass, and again to stop him dropping it later, a spark seemed to ignite in his chest. A tiny spark, like ash from a fag end, but it was there alright. The memories of those moments and a dozen others - laughing across the table, watching Tyler get his coat on when he was barely sober enough to stand, sharing a final nip out of the bottle - had all got mixed up with the fight they'd had on Monday, and the conversation afterwards where he'd basically asked Sam outright if he was a poof. Sam had denied it, but in such a way as to leave Gene with more questions than he'd started with. He was starting to feel bloody confused, and took a huge hit from his Scotch in the hope that it would, as it so often did, help.

Nelson had put some music on, but the pub seemed a lot quieter than usual. For a moment he wondered if he'd rather have Chris and Ray in here with them, making stupid jokes or telling bald-faced lies about their sex lives, but the thought was easy to dismiss. For all his weirdness, Tyler was good company. Which was just as well, since he'd hardly spoken a word to anyone else all week. Gene puffed at his cigarette, looking into the middle distance silently. What if Tyler did turn out to be a queer? Would that change things? Before now he'd have said yes, that he'd have beaten seven shades of shit out of the man and sent him back to Hyde without a moment's hesitation. He would never have believed that he'd have been capable of sharing his office, his car, his space with a nancy. Now? He wasn't so sure. The idea that Tyler might fancy other men seemed not to cast a shadow over their relationship, as though it wouldn't matter. He hesitated to even think it, but might it even be good? God knows it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like Sam did, or since he'd met anyone who could almost match blows with him and still be upright on the other side. That was the thing about Tyler, sometimes he was like a skirt with his mood swings, but he could fight like a man. Drink like a man, too, if you forgot about last Friday. As if he could.

He took another drink himself, finishing his glass. Tyler's was still almost full, and he was gazing into it.

'Gone off the Scotch since last time, Gladys?' he asked. Sam looked up, then shrugged.

'Looks that way, doesn't it?'

'Well, don't be too hard on yourself. A skinny bird like you, it's no wonder you can't handle your drink.' Sam gave him a withering look, then, and defiantly swallowed some of the whiskey. Gene sniffed laughter, lips pursed.

'Do they not drink the hard stuff in Hyde?'

Sam seemed to think about this, his expression surprisingly serious for such a casual question.

'Going to the pub's different, back home,' he eventually replied, his tone somber.

'Oh yeah?'

He nodded. 'Yeah. Everybody's drinking wine and G&Ts. Nobody smokes inside.' He looked around them. 'There's a lot more women - a LOT. Oh, and it's bloody expensive.' This last part seemed to cheer him a little, as he gave a bittersweet smile and took another sip of whiskey. Gene took all this in.

'Sounds bloody awful,' was his summary. Sam looked up at him, surprised, and his smile lost some of the sad edge.

'It is a bit, actually,' he agreed, thoughtfully.

'More birds though, I don't mind the sound of that. And I bet they were all flocking to you, eh?'

The smile was definitely much warmer now. 'Well, I don't like to brag, you know how it is...' This was a rare show of bravado from Tyler, the Guv couldn't resist winding him up.

'A new notch on the bedpost every night, was it? Good lad.'

This was met with a laugh and a shake of the head. 'Not exactly.' Still, he looked pleased. They sat quietly while Sam finished his whiskey, seemingly lost in memories. Gene watched him, taking in the slender hands round the glass, the dark, serious eyes, the long v-shape of Sam's open collar. There was a stillness about Sam Tyler, a feeling of fierce self-control. Even now, in the pub and after who knew how many pints, he looked tense. It had been good to see him properly relax last week; you didn't get much more relaxed than asleep on the table. Gene had set out to make sure Sam was OK, that night. His DI's well being had become increasingly important to him, and maybe tonight he could admit to himself that it wasn't a purely professional concern. Damn it, he liked the man. It was personal. They'd saved each other's bacon out there on the streets many times, they were partners. Good partners. It had been a long while since Gene had worked with someone he trusted and, yes, respected this way. A long, long time.

Sam seemed to come out of his reverie. 'Another drink?' he asked, reaching into his pocket before waiting for the answer. Gene only nodded, and Tyler made his way back to the bar, leaving the older man to his thoughts again. He looked back on the week, realising that not only had he been stuck in the Cortina with Sam all week, but in the times in between shifts he'd been thinking of Tyler more than anything else. He'd told himself over and over, without realising that he was doing it, that he was only taking care of business. He had to look after his men, because nobody else would. That was his job, to take care of these coppers and this city, and if that meant paying particular attention to one nutter then that's what he would do.

 

He'd already accepted that it wasn't purely professional, though. For all his self-reassurance, he'd started to care for this nutter. Not just the usual care and concern that he had for the whole CID family, either. He liked Sam. Liked him a lot. His face wrinkled. He sounded like a right fairy, here. But, if you didn't know your own mind you were in trouble, and he realised that he'd been fooling himself for weeks, maybe months, when it came to Sam Tyler. Maybe even since the day he'd walked into CID and they'd had their first fight. Trading blows with a member of his own team wasn't Gene's usual style but there was something in Tyler that seemed to invite it, encourage it even. And the more they fought, and the harder he had to work to win as the other man got used to his moves, the more he liked it. Him. Both.

Sam was back from the bar, a Scotch in each hand, to interrupt this confusing train of thought. The Guv grunted his thanks.

'Nelson's getting bored up there on his own,' he reported. Gene glanced over at the bar, where Nelson stood looking glum.

'It's a quiet night for him, alright, without our lot in filling his pockets,' he admitted. 'Where's Cartwright tonight, then?'

Sam's face darkened again for an instant.

'I, eh... I think she's on a date,' he said. It looked like he'd hoped this wouldn't come up. Gene had thought Sam would be likely to know what Cartwright was up to, even though they'd been away from the office all week. He'd seen the two of them having a cosy chat in the canteen on Tuesday. Thick as thieves, they'd looked. He thought maybe this date business could just be Annie trying to make Sam jealous. Maybe not though; she was a good looking lass, there was no need for her to wait around until Sam Tyler resolved all his many and varied psychological problems.

'Dirty slag,' he said, as much to punctuate the conversation as anything else. Sam's head snapped up.

'Don't speak about her like that,' he spat, obviously angry.

'Alright, Dorothy, keep your shirt on.'

'Just don't speak about her like that. Ever. Understand?'

Jesus, you just never knew when Tyler was going to go off on one. He was only joking. Everyone knew Cartwright was a good copper, everyone liked her. That didn't stop them talking about her arse when she wasn't there, but that was just life. He had an option now: he could let it go, ignore Tyler's outburst, or he could wind him up and maybe get himself into a fight over it. He'd take it outside, of course. Fighting in the Railway Arms was not tolerated, either by Nelson or by Gene Hunt. He decided to shelve it for now. No need to waste good drinking time.

'Alright Sam. Just a joke.' Sam dropped his eyes, took a sip of his drink. He was obviously upset about the whole thing. Gene attempted to make him feel better.

'Good to have some male bonding time anyway,' he tried, thinking it might raise a smile if nothing else. He was half right; the corners of Sam's mouth twitched.

'Haven't we had enough of that this week?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

'We haven't had enough of this, though, have we?' Gene countered, raising his glass and taking a drink. 'Besides, I know you could never get sick of my legendary wit and charm.' Sam choked on his own Scotch then, and a flush seemed to rise back to his cheeks. Gene noted it, had even perhaps been expecting it. He pushed on, feeling reckless.

'Don't deny it Sammy-boy, we all know yer fancy me. You're only human after all.' He'd gone a bit far there, but once you started on the wind up it was difficult to stop.

Sam wiped his mouth, seemingly lost for words, but managed to respond with a scathing 'Come off it Guv. My tastes run to more sophisticated people. Women, I mean.' He was flustered alright, and Gene felt a certain glee to accompany that blinking spark in his chest.

'Don't worry Sunshine, I won't tell anyone. It can be our little secret.'

 

Sam looked over at him then, something not-quite readable in his eyes. He looked uncertain and, once again, much more serious than this light-hearted banter deserved. Gene felt his stomach turn over, once, like butterflies. Like how he'd felt when he asked that beautiful girl out so many years ago. After that he'd never felt the same about another woman, thought it was just part of growing up and the novelty of 'love' fading as the realities of the world crept it. Maybe he'd just never met the right woman again. Even with Mrs Hunt things had been more practical than romantic. They'd got along well, and God knows he'd cared about her more than any other woman; that's why he'd asked her to marry him. He'd been happy on his wedding day, dancing with his new wife in front of everyone. She'd whispered in his ear that he looked handsome, so handsome, and he remembered squeezing her hand, looking into her brown eyes. After that shining moment things went back to day to day life and mundane conversations over dinner, the occasional peck on the lips and ever decreasing fumbles in the sack. Had he loved her? Yes, of course, but what was love except a word on daytime dramas and soap operas? Their relationship had died slowly, like a plant your neighbours forgot to water while you were on holiday, and now he was on his own again. On his own again, but looking into the eyes of a man who'd become so many things to him. Those soft, brown eyes, with what might be a flicker of hope drowning in them.

_It can be our little secret._

What if he opened his mouth and told Sam what he was thinking, right now? The thought made his stomach roll again, a feeling that hadn't lost any of its power in its years of staying dormant. He would never do it, of course, but the idea of it, what it might mean, was intoxicating. He lifted his Scotch again, but only held it for now, still looking back at Sam. What the bloody hell was going on here?

He didn't expect the response, when it came.

'I won't tell if you don't.'

Sam was still serious, still holding his gaze. That was too much for Gene, and he finally lifted his glass to his lips and closed his eyes as he drank. His heart was beating fast, his mind whirling.

_Oh God. I fancy Sam Tyler._

 


	7. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems as though Sam and Gene might finally be in agreement about something - but they wouldn't be the men we know and love if they cut straight to the chase without some banter and a punch up first.

Both men were silent, Gene with eyes closed and Scotch tilted to his mouth, Sam watching him. Sam didn’t know how to feel; not only had he just come out and openly made a suggestive remark to his boss, his boss had started it. _We’ve got a live one here._ All these feelings he’d been hiding, ignoring and denying - could they possibly be reciprocated? This was too much. He had to clear his head.

‘Off to take a leak,’ he mumbled, stepping away from the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. He passed Nelson at the bar, looked into his face as though he may have some advice to give. Nelson looked back and nodded gently at him. What did that mean? Was it just a normal pleasantry or did he know what was going on? He wouldn’t put it past him. Nelson took everything in and stored it all up quietly. Perceptive wasn’t even the word. He scrutinised the man’s eyes, looking for something else, more meaning. All he got was a slightly puzzled smile as he finally reached the end of the bar, and they passed out of each other’s eyeline.

When he got to the loo, he went in to the single cubicle and banged the door shut behind him, locking it firmly. Nelson’s toilets weren’t the finest place to be but he kept them as clean as he could, and at least there was both toilet seat and door. He lowered the seat and sat down, elbows on knees and head in hands. He felt so confused. Maybe he was reading too much into this? He’d tried that argument with himself last week, too, but it had never been convincing. Surely there was no way that Gene was really flirting with him, though. He was the straightest, most traditionally and pig-headedly masculine man Sam had ever met. The kind of man who was almost extinct back home, and who Sam would never have been friends with in a million years. They didn’t seem to agree on anything, from policing to politics, and yet here they were, thrown in together and making a good team. They had a fist fight at least every other week, then they went to the pub and spent hours drinking together with no more said about it. In all the other madness in his life, his relationship with Gene Hunt might be simultaneously the most solid and the most weird thing. And it had just got a lot weirder. And more exciting.

 

Gene felt gobsmacked, appalled at himself for getting into this situation. He wasn’t a bender, he was the absolute pinnacle of masculinity. He liked boozing, and fighting, and fish suppers. He did not like other men. As often as he repeated this, though, he couldn’t deny that the thought flashing in his mind, in red letters, was true.

_I fancy Sam Tyler._

He had no idea what to do except pretend that nothing had happened, both to Tyler and to himself, if he could. In fact, bollocks to that, nothing _had_ happened. Banter, that was all. And if they were both attaching more meaning to it than that, they could both pull themselves together. Separately. God, even that sounded like one of them double intenders. He took another drink, almost finishing the glass that Sam had just brought over.

He sat back in his chair again, feeling a bit punch drunk. And Scotch drunk, admittedly. He started to relax again. He still had it, then. The old magic. Appreciative looks from young women had been few and far between in recent times, but it turned out an appreciative look from a younger man could have the same cheering effect, even if it was more complicated. He was over-thinking, he knew he was. Better just to focus on the positives. He still had it.

 

Sam knew he’d been away for too long, and took a deep breath. Usually it was better to breathe shallowly, if at all, in the bogs, but needs must. He was a grown man, here, what the hell was he doing hiding in the toilets of a pub? This was stupid. Everything was fine. He had a bit of a crush on a man he respected, a man with an element of power and status, and he wasn’t the first to have that experience. When your whole life was upside down, it was only to be expected that you would latch on to someone who was always so in control of himself. The complex feelings of desire would soon fade again and he’d have no idea why he’d have felt the need to hide in the toilets of the Railway Arms one Friday night. All he had to do was get through the next few weeks without sounding like something out of a Carry On film every time he had too much to drink ( _‘I won’t tell if you won’t,’ honestly..._ ). He was up to the challenge. He’d had unrequited crushes before - not many, alright, but he knew how it went. Just wait it out. And start by going back to the table and acting like nothing had happened. He breathed out in a thin stream, gathering himself, then decided to use the facilities while he was in here. He slapped his hands on his bent knees, pushed himself up and went about his business. He washed up in the spotted sink before walking back out, consciously holding himself upright and allowing a certain swagger in his shoulders. He was calm, he was relaxed. Mind over matter. Finish up his drink and get home. No problem.

 

He felt a dismaying flutter of nerves as he got back to the table but tried to keep his face and movements calm. He couldn’t quite face looking Gene in the eye just yet, but then they’d had enough eye contact in the past week to last them a month. He didn’t say anything, just sat back down and took a sip of his whiskey. The Guv wasn’t forthcoming with anything either, legendary wit or otherwise, and they sat in what felt like excruciating silence for a spell.

Gene’s resolution to forget about the whole thing was over-ridden by his desire to break the silence. And to wind Tyler up, don’t forget that.

‘“I won’t tell if you won’t?”’ he said, still looking straight ahead. He thought he could see Sam’s face wince out of the corner of his eye.

‘Just a joke, Guv. Just thought I’d try out some humour. Don’t worry, I won’t be doing it again.’ He sipped at his drink, shoulders squared against the back of the chair.

‘See that you don’t. If anyone had heard you they’d have taken us for a couple of queers. I’d have had to beat them senseless before I could finish me drink.’ He was only part joking. He knew the damage a rumour could do to a man’s reputation. If he lost respect in this city he’d have trouble on his hands. Bad enough the time that harridan Jackie Queen had slated him over doing his job; if word went around that Gene Hunt was limp in the wrist things would be a lot worse than dirty looks.

‘Nobody would believe that, would they though?’ said Sam, with total conviction in his words. Gene was the last man anyone would suspect of the social crime of being gay.

Gene grunted a dry laugh. ‘Spose not, eh? Catch me joining the Bender Brigade...’ Sam hated to hear those words in the Guv’s mouth , and not only because they offended his modern sensibilities. He had accepted this for what it was, a teenage crush ten years too late, but while he was still caught up in its throes he knew it would be painful to hear his secret feelings so dismissed and abused. Of course nothing would ever happen with Gene, but hearing those words was still enough to make his heart dip.

‘Right. The uniform wouldn’t suit you, anyway. I hear it’s pink with gold braiding. It’s supposed to be fabulous. ’ He delivered this with a wry tone, hoping it sounded normal. He took a bigger drink from his glass, thinking that the sooner he could get home the sooner he’d feel relaxed again. The Guv surprised him by standing up, then, and he looked up. Gene must be thinking the same thing, that this evening was better left behind and never discussed again. Instead of pulling on his coat, though, he walked up to the bar without a word. Sam watched as he asked Nelson for a bottle from behind the counter. Yep, that was him getting ready for home alright. Not that the bottle would make it ten yards out of the pub without being opened and tasted. He was disappointed, annoyed at himself for letting these adolescent feelings ruin a perfectly good night in the pub. _What a twonk._

 

Gene had a short conversation with Nelson, both men speaking in low tones, Nelson smiling in his open, disarming way. The Guv strolled back over again, holding the bottle casually by the neck and looking down at the carpet in front of him. As he got back, Sam shifted upright in his seat, preparing to stand up. He wasn’t expecting Gene to sit down, but the man was full of surprises as ever and did just that, screwing the top off the Scotch in no short order. He didn’t look at Sam until he’d filled both glasses, and he’d handed one over. Sam couldn’t deny feeling a certain spreading warmth as he watched these grave proceedings. He hadn’t ruined everything after all. Little miracles, everywhere.

Gene saw Sam looking questioningly at him, and gave him a steady look back. ‘Well, if we’re going to get pissed, we might as well get a bargain on it, eh? He sipped from his whiskey then, as if minutes before Sam hadn’t been hiding in the toilets with his head in his hands, bemoaning his own misfiring hormones. Sam nodded, as though considering this point. ‘Sounds alright to me Guv. Cheers.’

The touched glasses, this time minus the intense eye contact ( _saints be praised_ ). There was more silence, but it had lost the edge. What a relief. Sam wondered what might be on the TV to keep them going in conversation through the rest of the evening. Nelson often put the the box on, muted, when it was quiet, to try and keep himself occupied. Sam looked up at the screen, proud as always at the sturdy brackets he’d constructed up there, and his face fell. Gene had noticed, and looked over first to get a good look at Sam’s expression, then over to the screen. After a moment he started laughing.

‘Speak of the devil, eh Sammy-boy?’ he chuckled. Liberace was flouncing his way across the screen. The irony was too much for him and he threw back his head, laughing from his gut. Sam had to join in. This was beyond a joke. If the TV screens were going to start picking up his thoughts like this he was going to be in trouble. Still, it was undeniably funny, and as he laughed he felt almost giddy at the release of some more of the tension from earlier.

‘Bloody Liberace,’ said Gene, a little breathless and still grinning. ‘All in pink, with gold braiding. You know your stuff anyway Gladys, I’ll give you that.’ Sam hadn’t picked up this particular detail, and couldn’t contain a groan as he leaned his face into the palm of his hand. This made Gene laugh again, and Sam gave him a rueful smile through his fingers.

‘I don’t suppose it would do any good to say I’ve never seen that outfit before in my life?’

‘A likely story. Doesn’t cut any mustard with me Tyler; I’m on to yer.’ Sam closed his eyes and shook his head against his hand, rumpling up his short fringe as he did so. Gene watched him, his eyes soft. The night had gone a bit weird, just then, but they were back to normal now, and he had the upper hand. Just how he liked it. Both men drank their Scotch, continuing to watch the flamboyant performer and providing occasional commentary. When the film finished and David Dimbleby came on with his buttoned up shirt and improbably shiny hair, they lost interest and turned back to light conversation. Gene found himself angling his body in towards the table, jumping a little when their knees touched accidentally. Alright, so not back to normal then, but approaching it.

 

As Dimbleby gave over to the late news, Gene felt ready to head home. He was pleasantly drunk and tired after the long, dull week. ‘Right Sammy-boy, time to call it a night.’ It was a statement rather than a suggestion. If he was ready to go home then that was the night over, end of story. Sam seemed to be feeling equally tired anyway, since he stifled a yawn before draining his glass.

‘Good idea Guv. Thank God it’s Friday, eh?’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Just a figure of speech.’

Gene sniffed at this, not seeming to be won over by the catchiness of the phrase. Sam put his empty back on the table and stood up slowly, stretching himself out as he did. His shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of flat midriff that Gene tried to ignore. The man was in good shape, anyone could see that. Couldn’t blame a man for noticing that. What you could blame him for was wondering what it would be like to touch that bare strip of skin, what it would feel like for both of them. He wondered it anyway, behind his impassive expression. As he turned his eyes away, he saw Nelson looking in their direction. The barman gave him a knowing look, and Gene felt like he’d been caught staring at a barmaid’s arse. He cleared his throat, looking away and picking up his coat. He swung it over his shoulders as Sam pulled on his own jacket, maneuvering much more elegantly that last time. He noted the man’s slim hips as the jacket settled around them, the way the sleeves were just a little too long for his small frame. He glanced guiltily over at Nelson again, but he’d gone back to his book, obviously not a fan of either the news or the subtle floor show that Sam and Gene were unwittingly providing.

‘You ready then?’ Sam broke into the Guv’s thoughts. He nodded, and they made their way to the door. The cold air outside sobered them both up a little. They stood away from the door, half facing each other and half facing their respective routes home.

‘Right then Tyler. See you in the office tomorrow.’ Another command rather than request. There was catching up to do this weekend.

‘Bright eyed and bushy tailed, Guv,’ Sam agreed, hands in his pockets to keep out the chill.

‘Alright Squirrel Nutkin. Shouldn’t imagine anyone else will be very bushy tailed even if you can manage it.’ Sam rolled his eyes, not thrilled with yet another nickname.

‘If Ray and Chris have got their way I should imagine they’ll be more bushed than bushy tailed,’ he said, hoping to end the night on a laugh. He got a chuckle.

‘Cartwright too. If she’s walking like John Wayne in the morning we’ll know why.’

 

Sam felt a sudden surge of anger. ‘I told you not to talk about her like that,’ he said. His hands bunched in his pockets. He was too protective of Annie, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. That casual way of demeaning women, God, it was so... well, so 1973. He hated it.

Gene knew he shouldn’t have said it, hadn’t really planned to, but he certainly wasn’t going to apologise for a harmless remark like that.

‘Or what, Tyler? You’ll hit me with your handbag?’ He kept his tone light, almost as though it were a genuine enquiry. Sam stayed silent, keeping his jaw clenched over any argumentative words. Gene wasn’t so inclined.

‘Maybe you should let Cartwright stand up for herself, eh? Or her new boyfriend, of course. I bet he’s an uncomplicated kind of bloke. Tall, too.’

This was the final straw.

‘Fuck you, Gene,’ spat Sam, appalled at himself for saying it even as the words formed. He tried to turn and storm off, but he was caught firmly by the arm and spun round.

‘What did you say?’ growled the Guv, low and menacing.

‘You heard me. Don’t speak about her like that. Don’t speak about her at _all_. And get your hands off me.’ He pushed Gene’s hand off his bicep, hard. He could still feel Gene’s grip, knew he’d have faint bruises there in the morning.

‘You are getting a bit too touchy, Tyler, you know that? Now I cut you a lot of slack around here...’ - Sam scoffed in his face - ‘...but if I have to put you in your place, believe me, I will. I will take great delight in it, in fact.’ Their faces were an inch apart. Gene had kept his tone low, trusting on his intimidating physical bulk and blazing eyes to keep Tyler down. He could feel the smaller man’s breath on his face, they were so close. Tyler glared up at him, as he’d done dozens of times in the last few months, jaw clenched and body tense. Gene waited for the first blow to fall, ready to deflect it when it did. Tyler never could get the best of him, but it didn’t stop him trying. He was ready for a good fight; Sam had been the source of some unwelcome brain activity today, and it seemed obvious now that he deserved a good kicking for it.

‘Don’t. Push me. Gene.’ Sam snarled, teeth bared. The smell of beer and whiskey on his words mixed with the heady scent of leather, creating a cloud of desire around Gene’s face. In that moment he felt drawn to close the gap between them in a way he’d never have dreamed of before, and suddenly shoved Sam away. Tyler came back swinging and caught Gene a glancing blow to the jaw; he’d moved just enough to miss the worst of the punch. Wasting no time, Gene threw an uppercut to Sam’s tight gut, but was surprised by Sam leaning in to him and shoving back, forcing them both away from the pub and towards the darker alley alongside.

‘Oh, it’s like that, is it?’ panted Gene, and secured a hold on Sam’s lapels. He dragged him around and pushed him again, further towards the side street. ‘Don’t want anyone seeing me kick you to death?’ He landed another shove as Tyler tried to get his footing and stormed forward, keeping himself within hitting distance and firing out another right hook that sent Sam sprawling on the pavement. He was up again in an instant and threw a wobbly punch at Gene’s jaw. Gene dodged it easily, but wasn’t ready for the jab that came in at rib height.

‘Don’t want anyone to see you humiliated. _Guv._ ’ It was shocking how much venom Sam could inject into that one word, when he wanted to, and it hurt Gene more than he’d ever admit to hear it. He tried to smack Tyler in the face, to shut his mouth, but Sam blocked him and got in another two powerful jabs that left him winded and on the back foot. He feinted to one side, drawing Sam’s guard down, then stepped in again and landed a headbutt right on Tyler’s nose. He felt a crunch, and a sharp stab of pain in his forehead. Tyler staggered back, hand to his face, gasping. For a moment Gene could only feel a savage delight; the roar of triumph that filled his ears was deafening. He felt the blood thumping in his veins and breathed deeply, relishing the feeling. He was a man alright, the biggest, baddest man in Manchester. He felt powerful, elated, and had a fleeting urge to pile back in and take his opponent down while he was defenceless. All this flooded through his brain in seconds, before reality returned and he was looking at Sam Tyler, wounded and bleeding.

 

‘Shit,’ he hissed, hurrying forward. Drops of blood landed on the ground in front of Sam, and he was swaying dangerously on his feet. ‘Come on. Come on, Tyler.’ He led Sam over to the wall and leaned him up against it. ‘Let’s have a look.’ Sam didn’t respond and Gene worried that he was going to pass out. He reached up and curled the tips of his fingers against the edge of Sam’s palm.

‘Come on,’ he said again, in a gentle voice so different from the harsh tones of the minutes before. Tyler let his hand be taken away but still didn’t look up. Bright drops continued to fall from his nose, faster now that his hands were out of the way. He was a mess, blood smeared across his face. His downturned eyes looked glassy. _Shit_ , thought Gene again. He was ashamed of himself, feeling almost panicked by the damage he’d caused. He’d made Tyler bleed a bit before, OK, but no more than a graze on the cheekbone. This was bad.

‘Tyler,’ he said, wanting the man to look up, snap out of this daze. ‘Sam.’ He realised that he still had his hand around the other man’s, and removed it, hesitating only briefly before using the index finger to tilt Sam’s chin up. The touch seemed to rouse Tyler a bit, and his eyes moved and found Gene’s own. Gene’s usually indifferent gaze was concerned now, as he frowned at the damage he’d caused. ‘Are you alright?’

This woke Sam further. ‘Alright?’ he asked groggily. ‘You burst my nose, you lunatic bastard.’ Gene was relieved to hear this banter, weakly delivered as it was. He searched in his pockets for a hanky, but to no avail. He wasn’t really the kind of man that carried a handkerchief, but you never knew what you might find in the pockets of this coat.

‘We better get you cleaned up. Come on,’ he said, encouraging Sam away from the wall. He staggered on the first steps, and Gene stepped in and put his shoulder under Sam’s, feeling the man’s arm curl round instinctively until his left hand held Gene’s shoulder. He ran his own arm round Sam’s narrow waist.

 

They limped on a few paces, until Sam said, ‘Now who’s coming over all Dorothy?’

‘You ungrateful sod, I’m trying to help!’ Gene replied, with a good attempt at sounding offended.

‘Ungrateful? You headbutted me!’ His voice was muffled; the bleed had slowed but his nose had swollen already, making him sound ill.

‘I know, I know. Come on, into the car.’ He leaned Sam up against the Cortina as he unlocked it, then opened the door for him.

‘The car?’ Sam looked puzzled, his still slightly woozy face folding into a frown.

‘Yes, Einstein, we need to get you cleaned up. Get in, will you?’

‘But you’ve been drinking...’

‘Yes and I would like to get back to that sooner rather than later, so if you _don’t_ mind, would you GET IN THE BLOODY CAR?!’ He knew he had no business being angry with Sam but he’d been frightened there, and Gene Hunt was not a man to frighten easily.

Sam seemed to decide that he’d rather be home and cleaned up than standing here arguing, and eased himself into the passenger seat. Gene closed the door once he was in, as though he was escorting a lady, and whirled round to his own side, tugging his driving gloves on.

He was in the car and had it started in no time, setting off towards Sam’s flat at breakneck speed.

‘Jesus Guv, slow it down,’ Sam complained, hand back at his face to inspect the damage there. Gene felt another flare of guilt when he saw this, but didn’t slow the pace any. He wanted to get the blood cleaned away and get a look at Sam in the light to see how bad it was. _Shit_.

 

They got from the car to Sam’s building without having to resort to a three-legged race, and Gene was very glad to see that Tyler’s gait seemed to be back on an even keel. They stepped through the front door of the bedsit, Gene closing it behind him, and Sam shrugged off his jacket and went straight through to the bathroom. Gene followed, standing behind Sam as he dabbed the blood away with a flannel, wincing occasionally. As it cleared away, Gene could see that it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. The bleeding had stopped and while Tyler’s nose was swollen, it was the same shape as it had been before. Gene had seen (and caused) enough broken noses to know one when he saw it, and this didn’t meet the criteria. Sam stopped his inspection of his face and looked at Gene in the cracked mirror.

‘Happy now?’ he asked sarcastically, holding the bloody cloth up. Gene was anything but happy; he hadn’t meant this to happen, had got carried away with his own raging blood and beating heart. His heart gave a few extra thuds now as he looked back at Sam, and he shook his head.

‘I’m sorry, Sam.’

Tyler looked surprised; he’d never imagined that the word ‘sorry’ was in his DCI’s vocabulary. He watched as Gene’s eyes travelled away from his face and down to his chest. For a moment he misread the Guv’s intention and his heart stuttered, but when he looked down himself he saw the truth; there was blood on his shirt, staining a Rorschach pattern into the striped material.

‘Jesus, do you know how hard that’s going to be to get out?’ he asked, irritably. He started to unbutton his shirt quickly, wanting to try and get the stain soaking. He didn’t have much by way of wardrobe and he had no desire to take a trip to the shops, where there seemed to be every shade of brown known to man but not much else. He didn’t notice Gene’s eyes widen at the action, or the way he looked quickly up to the ceiling. He stripped off his shirt and bent forward to run water across the worst of the bloodstains. What were you supposed to do for blood? Pour white wine on it? Rub it with salt? He couldn’t remember. He looked up, meaning to ask if Gene knew, and found himself locking eyes with the Guv in the mirror again. There was an expression in those eyes that Sam couldn’t read. He looked sorry, yes, but was there something else behind that? His mouth was slightly open as he watched Sam in the mirror, and Sam felt a heat spread from his stomach downwards. He was suddenly aware of his topless state; the Guv hadn’t even stopped to take his gloves off, and Sam was standing here half undressed. It was enough to ignite the banked fires of earlier, and he’d turned to Gene before he’d thought about it.

They stood facing each other, the silence heavy around them. Gene stepped forward, not as close as he’d been when he’d thrown that headbutt, but close enough. ‘You’re OK?’ he asked, in a low voice. Sam couldn’t answer, could hardly breathe. Was this really happening? He could feel a tingle in the air, all his instincts telling him that yes, it was real. He managed a tiny nod, feeling as dizzy as he had earlier, when the stars flashed in front of his eyes and he’d thought he was going to land flat on his back on the muddy gravel. Gene edged forward again. ‘Sam?’ His tone was still soft. For the second time tonight, he could feel Gene’s breath on his face. He felt warm, too warm. He was stuck, one side of his mind telling him that he was about to kiss another man and the other telling him that he was delusional from knocks to the head, not to embarrass himself by making any moves. He stood, mouth open, eyes darting from one of Gene’s to the other and back again, trying to find the green light he so desperately wanted.

 

When it happened, it was fast. Gene leaned in suddenly, paused with his top lip just brushing Sam’s own. Sam gasped then, and the sensation jolted Gene into pressing their lips together in a firm kiss. It seemed to last for hours, before Gene closed his lips, then opened them again. Sam groaned in his throat, unable to help it. Their lips closed and opened again, and now he was definitely kissing back, pushing their faces even closer together and breathing in through his mouth as Gene breathed out. He could taste the Scotch, taste the metallic tang of cigarette smoke, and it was like his first kiss, all new sensations and thrills running across his skin. His bare skin, which trembled and twitched as Gene’s gloved hand landed on his waist. He wanted to feel Gene’s tongue with his own, take this moment of madness as far as he could before it was snatched away from him, and he pressed even closer. The movement brought his nose into firm contact with Gene’s own and he yelped, jerking his head away sharply. The pain brought tears to his eyes, and he shut them, wincing.

 

He stayed that way until the pain had passed, holding a hand to his face, not wanting to look at the Guv after what had just happened. He didn’t know what he’d see in those eyes, was frightened he’d find a look of anger or worse, disgust. Gene’s hand remained resting on his waist, though, and he took the courage from this to finally stop delaying the inevitable. He opened his eyes to meet that steely gaze. It was guarded, but there was a shine to them that Tyler hadn’t seen before.

‘Thought you were gonna pass out on me again. Come on, let’s get you sat down.’ He finally took his hand away and stepped back to let Sam past. The bathroom was narrow, and as Sam squeezed by, Gene stopped him. They were stomach to stomach, temporarily increasing the flutters of excitement in Sam’s gut. Gene leaned over and placed one soft kiss on Sam’s mouth, resting there for a second, before edging his way back into the bathroom and freeing Sam to walk through the doorway.

Whatever else Sam knew, and right now that didn’t feel like a lot, that kiss told him that everything was going to be just fine. Maybe even more than fine. He carried on into the main body of the flat, a grin starting to spread across his face.

 


	8. Let's Spend the Night Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are suddenly differen between Sam and Gene. Gene tries to approach things in his usual practical way, but gets sidetracked.

As Sam shuffled his way into the main room, Gene stood and watched. He couldn’t believe what had just happened, what he had just done. What about all that stuff he’d decided about pulling himself together and ignoring all these feelings? He felt out of breath, as though they’d just had another fight instead of kissing. He stripped his gloves off, tucked them in his coat pocket. He’d never kissed another man before. With the exception of one or two conflicting reports from some parts of his brain, he was shocked to find that he’d enjoyed it. His body certainly had, there was no denying the stirrings he’d had in the trouser department as he pressed his lips to Sam’s or the flush in his cheeks now. He was buzzing. Christ, it was almost as good as punching the man.

He followed Sam out, now, to find Tyler sitting on the bed, wrestling off his shoes. There was no fresh blood on his face; even though he knew it wasn’t broken, he had been afraid they might have set it off bleeding again just now. When they kissed. _I’ve kissed a bloke._ He kept returning to it, trying to fit the concept into a brain that had long since outlawed that kind of behaviour. Sam was finally in his socks, and boosted himself up on to the bed properly, leaning against the wall where a headboard would go if he’d owned such a luxury. He saw Gene come out of the bathroom and gave him an unusually shy grin. Gene kept his face straight, wanting to attend to the next bit of business, which would involve a large Scotch unless he was very much mistaken.

‘Got a freezer, Tyler?’ he asked, brusquely. Sam’s grin faltered as he replied.

‘Eh, yeah. Yeah, there’s a freezer box at the top of the fridge. Why...’ Gene didn’t wait to hear the question, but turned and stepped up to the appliance in question. Sam leaned back and shut his eyes. He heard rummaging and a bit of banging, accompanied by some low-level swearing. There were some clinking sounds next, which made Sam open his eyes again, and he saw Gene over-burdened with one glass, one mug and a balled-up tea towel. He looked around for the table and put everything down, then took the few steps over to the bedside.

‘Here,’ he said, thrusting the tea towel at Sam. Sam had no clue what he was supposed to do with this and didn’t reach for it immediately, looking questioningly up into Gene’s face.

‘It’s ice, for your nose. Bring the swelling down. Stop it hurting. Go on,’ he said, offering the bundle again. Sam was touched; even though the Guv had given him the burst nose in the first place, he’d never have expected him to try to make amends. He took the makeshift ice pack and applied it to the bridge of his nose. It felt good, and he stretched his eyebrows up to settle it in more closely. Of course, this meant that he couldn’t see what Gene was up to now, but he was almost glad of an excuse not to look at the man. Gene was acting like nothing had happened, and Sam didn’t know if he could bear to have this, whatever this was, offered and withdrawn again so quickly. He concentrated instead on the soothing cold on his bruised face, and on listening to Gene’s movements.

First he heard the camelhair coat come off, and he pictured Gene hanging it on the coat rack. Next, he heard the glass and mug clinking together, and the unmistakable sound of a Scotch bottle being opened and poured. There was a sudden quiet cracking sound; Gene had even put ice in the drinks. That was practically a cocktail, by his standards. Sam heard some shuffling around then and another bit of banging and swearing, this time coming closer to the bed and ending in a soft thump. Finally, he heard Gene turning to the table and back, and presently the mug was pressed into his free hand, handle positioned so it was easy to grab. He took it, with a nasal ‘thanks’. Gene sat down in the chair he’d dragged over - probably the armchair, it was marginally less uncomfortable, even if it was a bugger to move.

 

Sam carefully lifted the ice pack away from his nose and looked at it, checking for any blood on the towel. There was none; he thought he’d avoided a broken nose very narrowly, but avoided it all the same. He took a sip from his mug, looking out over the rim at Gene, glad to have a barrier between them. Gene was sitting forward, elbows on knees, holding his glass in both hands. He leaned forward as he asked ‘How is it?’.

 

Sam swallowed his whiskey. ‘Not too bad now. Thanks for the ice. And the medicine.’ He raised his mug a little to illustrate his point. Gene flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and was gone before it really got started. He was still trying to process what had happened in the bathroom, and trying to think what to say next. Should he ignore it, pretend it hadn’t happened? Should he tell Tyler now that it had been a mistake, brought on by high temper and strong liquor? That was at least partly true; if they’d been sober, none of this would have happened. That didn’t mean that Gene wasn’t glad it had happened, which was the most confusing part. He was still trying to figure it all out when Sam spoke.

‘Gene...’ he started, sounding unsure and not looking over at him any more.

‘Yeah?’ Gene kept his tone neutral.

‘Are you gonna send me back to Hyde now?’

This was an unexpected consideration; it had no more occurred to Gene than it had occurred to him to get on the radio and tell the night shift at the station how he’d almost broken Sam Tyler’s nose, but it was OK because he’d kissed it better.

‘And lose my best man? You _are_ joking me,’ he replied, voice almost outraged. Sam chanced a look over, at that, a hesitant smile starting at the corners of his mouth. ‘Of course not, Sammy-boy.’ He took a drink, swilling the cold Scotch around his mouth. Sam looked relieved.

‘So...’ he started again.

‘Oh, spit it out, would you?’ Gene was rattled, because no matter what Sam was going to ask next he didn’t think he knew the answer.

‘I’m sorry, will we just talk about football instead?’ Sam asked waspishly.

Gene had been right; he didn’t have an answer to that, or to anything else except perhaps ‘Are you going to need lots more Scotch?’. Well, he always said that if you had nothing to say, you’d better say nothing, and sat quietly in the worn armchair. He felt a bit like he was visiting Sam in hospital, which might not have been out of the question if things had gone just a little differently earlier. The thought made him shiver. Sam noticed.

‘Cold?’ he asked, a certain iciness in his own tone. Gene could have lied and agreed with him, but decided to try for the truth.

‘Not cold. Scared. I could have broken your face there.’

Sam looked back into his chipped mug, swirling the drink gently against the sides. He nodded slowly.

‘You could. You wanted to, as well.’

 

It was Gene’s turn to be surprised, and Sam lifted the ice pack back to his face, obscuring his eyes. He thought about denying the accusation, but it hadn’t really been said that way. It was just a fact, they both knew that Gene’s temper was on a hair trigger, and it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d put someone in an ambulance. It had never been one of his own men, though. Never.

‘Never,’ he said out loud, half to himself. Sam gave no reply, eyes still closed and whiskey held loosely in one hand. ‘I would never.’

‘Didn’t seem that way, did it?’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ He couldn’t believe he was apologising for the second time in one night, but what else could he say? Sam managed to take a sip of his drink without dislodging the ice pack, making a quiet noise of appreciation as it hit his throat.

‘Is that all you’re sorry for?’ he asked, after another pause. That was a loaded question, and no mistake. He kept his face covered, obviously finding it easier to ask that way. Gene took his time in answering, spinning this awful moment out a lot longer than he wanted to.

‘No. I mean, yes. I mean... I don’t bloody know what I mean.’ He took a large draft of Scotch, striking out for inebriation again after this whole sobering experience.

‘Me neither Guv. Not much change there though, half the time it’s like you’re speaking another language.’ He peeked out from behind the bundle at his nose, then, and Gene rewarded him with a laugh huffed out through his nose and a cynical purse of the lips.

‘Look who’s talking, Tyler,’ he replied, his tone lighter than the words suggested. Sam’s eye closed again, and a faint smile touched his lips. He settled himself more comfortably against the wall, legs stretched out ahead of him. He’d sat near to the edge, leaving almost enough space for someone else to fit in, if they didn’t mind the close quarters. Looking at that space, Gene felt a bit uneasy. Was he going to get into bed with Sam later? The question made him nervous, which was not a feeling he was normally at home to. He didn’t seem to be having any regrets about crossing this line with Sam, not yet anyway, but there was crossing a line and there was stampeding over it like a herd of elephants. He wondered what Sam would do if he got up and sat down next to him, maybe even held the ice pack for a while. That thought was so un-Gene Hunt that he laughed a little. Sam heard him.

‘What’s funny?’

‘Me playing ruddy Florence Nightingale here.’

‘It is a bit,’ Sam agreed. ‘You’re not doing too badly, though. Ice and whiskey, two key components in any medicine cabinet.’ He took the ice away again, wrinkled his nose carefully. ‘It feels a lot better now. It was just a nosebleed, nothing broken. Probably no black eyes, either.’ He turned his face towards Gene now, as though to show off the lack of black eyes. Hunt nodded sagely, eyes roving across that face, checking for injury.

‘Think you’ll be fine, Tyler.’ Both men tipped up their glasses in unity, then, an unplanned move that was nevertheless perfectly synchronised. They both drained them, and Gene returned his to his knee.

 

‘So...’ it was his turn to be hesitant now. Sam regarded him, blinking a bit groggily. Gene thought that events were catching up with the DI, maybe even a bit of shock setting in.

‘...d’you want me to go, then?’ He wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be. He felt like he might never be sure of anything to do with Sam Tyler again. Sam continued only to look for a while, and Gene wondered if he should repeat himself, but before he could, Sam started to shake his head.

‘No. I don’t want you to go. Will you stay?’

Gene nodded firmly, finding that he was gladdened by the answer. ‘I’ll stay. Got to make sure you don’t go slipping into a coma in the night.’ Something about this struck Sam as funny, and he laughed for a long while. He wiped his watering eyes when he was done, held the melting ice pack up to his nose again and stuck out his empty mug at a bemused Gene.

‘Give us a top up,’ he said, voice still full of good humour. Gene wasn’t sure what that was all about, but he’d take the laughing Sam over serious Sam any day. He took Sam’s mug and stood up, adding another generous measure of whiskey to it and to his own at the little table. When he turned to go back, he realised that he had a chance, now, to change seats, to get closer to Sam again. In the end, he couldn’t make himself get onto the bed,but made a compromise by dragging the armchair around after he’d handed Sam his drink, so that he was sitting closer. He didn’t think they’d need another drink after this, the adrenaline from earlier was fading, and while he still had a lot of questions to ask himself, and maybe a few to as Sam, dog tiredness would probably win out.

 

‘What a week,’ he said, leaning back in the chair and propping his elbows on the arms.

‘You can say that again,’ Sam answered. They sat silently, contemplatively sipping their whiskey. Sam felt much calmer than he’d have given credit to not so long before. A lot of that was sheer tiredness, but now that something had actually happened with Gene he could stop worrying about it. Alright, it brought up a lot of questions, but he could face them in the morning. He thought back to the kiss, which had been over before it really got started. He closed his eyes, fully recalling the moment. It left him feeling a little breathless, the ghost of Gene’s lips brushing his own making him tingle again. The power of the man, all contained and focused on that one small area, was more intense than anything Sam had experienced in years. The thought of experiencing it again made him feel a twitch of longing under the blanket of weariness. When he opened his eyes, Gene was looking at him intently, seeming to read his mind. He leaned forward in the armchair, putting himself right on the edge of the seat. Sam didn’t think, but slowly slid his legs off the side of the bed and sat upright, facing Gene. Their knees were touching, and Gene parted his so that one of Sam’s legs fell between them. He leaned over and put his mug down on the floor.

 

This time there was lots of opportunity to change his mind, to lean back again, but Gene didn’t take it. He wanted to kiss Sam again, he couldn’t deny it; the time for outright denial had been left behind in the pub. He watched as Sam leaned in to him, this time, inching closer and watching his eyes for any sign of refusal. Gene felt like a speeding car in an action film; out of control, but slowed down so you could experience every moment in glorious technicolour. Sam was breathing hard, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. As Gene’s eyes were drawn to those lips, Sam closed the narrowing gap between them, holding his head at an angle to protect his nose. He met Gene’s lips and held still, just as Gene had earlier, with them barely touching. He flickered his tongue out again, the tip of it lightly touching the bow of Gene’s upper lip as it passed. Gene heard a high ringing in his ears, felt his heart pounding beneath his shirt. He didn’t move though, wanting Sam to take control. The puffs of breath from the other man’s mouth were almost too much to bear, but if he made any sudden moves he might hurt him, and right now he felt like he never wanted to do that again.

Sam finally pressed their mouths together properly, sealing the kiss. As their mouths opened, Gene reached out a hand and cupped the curve of Sam’s jaw. His thumb rested on the man’s cheek, his fingers threaded into the short hair on the back of his neck. Sam sighed softly as they kissed, leaning a little further in. He slid his tongue across Gene’s upper lip and back into his own mouth. Gene felt a thrill that ran right down his spine and lit up his groin. He waited for Sam to use his tongue again, then met it with his own. He couldn’t control a shudder when they touched, but he was careful with his hand, which was now sliding down the back of Sam’s neck, thumb tracing a line from cheek to collarbone. Sam brought his own hands up and buried both of them in Gene’s hair, running his fingers through it as though he’d been holding back from doing so only with great difficulty, for God knew how long. Gene’s hand slid down Sam’s bare arm, coming to rest on the firm curve of a compact bicep. Sam brought his hands round to hold Gene’s face, fingertips tracing over the scars, one thumb touching the corner of their rhythmically moving lips. This sent another wave of excitement into the pit of Gene’s stomach. Sam moved his hands back to loosely link behind Gene’s neck before breaking their lips apart, tipping his head forward to lean their foreheads together instead. He gasped in a huge breath, puffed it back out again. Gene removed his hand from Sam’s arm and put it back in his hair, cradling the back of his head with strong fingers. He was out of breath, too, and lit up like a Christmas tree. It had never been like this before, not even when he was seventeen and randy all hours of the day and night. He kept his eyes closed, leaning against Tyler and basking in the glow they’d created between them. He did what seemed natural, then, and shifted a little, guiding Sam’s head so that their faces were now side by side, cheeks sliding against each other, and drew him into a hug that said more than he would ever be capable of expressing in words. Sam laid his head sideways on Gene’s shoulder, wrapping his arms further round the man’s neck. Gene kept his hand in Sam’s hair, gently running his fingers through it, marvelling at the way short hair felt under his palm. They both breathed deeply, in synch and connected, until he felt Sam move a little.

 

‘Gene?’ His voice was muffled.

‘What?’

‘Are you still holding your glass?’

There was a pause.

‘Might be.’

Another pause.

‘Well, you never know when you might be thirsty.’

Sam started laughing, sitting upright again. He reached down for his own drink, and tilted it towards Gene.

‘Cheers,’ he smiled, flushed and happy.

‘Cheers, Sam.’


	9. An Occasional Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Gene get away with pretending nothing has happened? And does he want to?

Sam woke up with a start and a strangled cry - not such an unusual beginning to the day, for him. What was unusual was that someone else joined in.

‘What?’ shouted Gene, sitting bolt upright in the armchair.

Sam snapped his head around, frightened by the new voice. He saw Gene and his eyes lost their wide, panicked look, as he dropped his head back to the pillow. ‘Nothing. Bad dream.’ It had been one of those ones with clips and snippets from 1973 mixed in with flashes of 2006, all threaded through with his mum’s voice, Maya’s voice, the doctors’ voices. He felt homesick, frightened, close to tears. He was lying on his front, and he took an arm out from under the pillow to rub his eyes. There was never anyone here to witness these kind of mornings (or any other kind of mornings) and he was embarrassed to be seen like this, waking up screaming like a girl in a horror film, damp round the eyes.

‘You scared the shit out of me!’ Gene’s tone was as belligerent as ever. Sam didn’t have the strength to argue the injustice of this accusation.

‘Sorry,’ he said, shortly.

The events of yesterday were crowding round now, trying to shoulder the remnants of the nightmare back into the dark corners of Sam’s mind. That’s why Gene was there, he’d stayed the night after headbutting Sam in the face and then bringing him back here to clean it up. They’d kissed - twice. Two kisses; it sounded like so little when you thought of it that way. Not even as many kisses as he’d put on the end of a text message. No hands below the waist, not even any upstairs inside, as Ray would put it. Two kisses. One huge can of worms.

Gene had slept in the chair, deciding that there wasn’t room in the bed and, perhaps, not really feeling comfortable sharing a bed with Sam even if there had been room. Sam could empathise with that, if it was the case. He’d shared a bed with other guys, when there had been a shortage of space and once in a hotel booking gone wrong situation, but it was all a bit different when you’d had your tongue in their mouth beforehand. Even through the aftermath of the dream and the rising hangover he was getting, the thought of putting his tongue in Gene’s mouth still sent blood shooting southwards and a shiver rippling down his back. This was going to be a mess, he could tell already.

 

Gene had heard Sam complain of bad dreams before, but he didn’t know what to make of this dramatic start to the day. He’d thought that people only woke up screaming in films. There was no doubt that it was absolutely genuine, though - Tyler looked like a man right on the edge, crossing his hand over his face to try and disguise it but obviously shaken. He felt bad for shouting at him but bloody hell, what a way to get woken up. What with the shout from the bed, the lingering taste of Scotch at the back of his throat and the fact that he was in an armchair in Sam Tyler’s flat instead of at home in bed, his waking moments had been a bit of a riot of confusion. Everything had come back to him in one hammer blow of memory, once he’d got past the fright of Sam’s wake up call, and while at least now he knew what he was doing here it did raise some bigger questions. For one, what in the name of Christ had he been thinking last night? He’d been drinking, alright, but until now he’d have said there wasn’t enough drink in the world to have him snogging another bloke.

At least he’d woken up with most of his clothes on, and on the chair instead of in bed with Sam. Even after kissing him last night, he hadn’t felt the urge to let things go any further. No, that was a lie - he’d felt an urge, but Gene Hunt did not get into bed with people on a first date. Not that they’d been on a date, even - and he couldn’t imagine it happening in future, either. Him and Sam, in the back row of the cinema? Or going out for dinner in a restaurant with linen napkins and too much cutlery? No way. So what did that leave, then? Did he want to write last night off as a moment of madness, try to go on as normal and never think of it again? It was too much to try and decide without a bit of a run-up. And maybe a stiff drink.

For now, he decided to try for normal, and see how it went. Sam had rolled onto his back and lay silently looking up at the ceiling. He seemed to have recovered himself to a point, but looked tired, and unless Gene was mistaken there was definitely some bruising across his nose. As Gene tried to think of something ‘normal’ to say, Sam beat him to it.

‘You know, it’s usually around this time that you start hammering the door to tell me we’ve got a shout,’ he said, in a dry tone.

‘I only do that when _you_ don’t answer your phone. Or when it’s really important. Or maybe sometimes if it just seems a bit quicker...’ Gene realised that he didn’t have a leg to stand on here - he did tend to come round unannounced, had never really thought about it before. Sam gave a flat smile.

‘Let’s hope nobody else comes round looking for me instead, anyway. This’d be a difficult one to explain.’

‘Nobody else’ll be awake, it’s a Saturday morning,’ Gene said, avoiding the real question. Sam left that hanging for a minute, but didn’t pursue it further. He knew that whatever happened, or didn’t happen, between him and Gene, it would have to be kept secret. That went without saying, and since the most likely thing was that last night would be the full extent of their extra-curricular relationship, he supposed it didn’t really matter. He tried to tell himself this in a matter of fact tone, but to his mind’s ear he sounded disappointed, defeated. Now that he’d let his feelings for the Guv through the internal smokescreen, he knew he would be miserable to have to pretend they didn’t exist again. Anyway, it was pretty clear that it wasn’t currently up for discussion. He settled for sitting up, blanket pooling round his waist, and saying, ‘Let’s head in then. Paperwork won’t do itself.’

Gene grunted at this, obviously not relishing the thought.

‘Come on, Guv - maybe there’ll be a nice murder for you to deal with, eh?’ He was mocking him a bit, but the day hadn’t started too well and, besides, he was feeling self-conscious now. He wanted to get some clothes on, get out of the flat and try not to act like a girl with a crush on a pop star. He knew he could manage two out of the three, anyway.

Gene nodded. ‘Yeah alright Tyler, no need for sarcasm. It’s the lowest form of wit, you know.’ He stood up, putting the blanket over the back of the chair and looking around to locate his suit, which he’d draped over one of the wooden dining chairs. He walked over to them and lifted the trousers, stepping into them quickly and zipping them up. He stripped off the vest he’d been sleeping in, and lifted his shirt from yesterday. He looked at it critically, but it would have to do. He wasn’t going home to get changed, and at any rate they’d been out in the car all day yesterday, nobody except Sam would notice a second day shirt. He could have a wash and a shave when they got there. He pulled the shirt on and started buttoning, keen to be fully dressed again. Then it might seem like any other morning that he’d called round to pick Tyler up on the way to a job and he might start feeling more sure of himself. As he knotted his tie round his neck, he wondered if he could smoke in the flat without it being a theatrical production of pointed coughs and opened windows.

Sam had swung himself out of bed, and was looking out some fresh clothes for the day. He was still as he had gone to bed, clad only in his boxers, and Gene found himself tongue-tied for a moment. He recovered enough to manage a curt ‘Got an ashtray?’

Sam looked round, as though surprised from deep thought. ‘Eh... yeah. Yeah grab a saucer or something from the cupboard.’ He walked out of the way, then, towards the bathroom where he could get dressed in private. Gene let him pass before heading over to rummage through the crockery, and Sam went through the screen door and pulled it shut behind him. It wasn’t used to being pulled over, and resisted him with squeaks and judders. God, the last thing he wanted was to draw further attention to this. It wasn’t like Gene hadn’t seen him in the buff before, but that had been then. This was now, and things were different. Besides, that time hadn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs for him - for the rest of the squad, yes, and he could do without a repeat of that. He knew it was unlikely the Guv would mention it to anyone but it was just one more reason to be shy. He finally got the door mostly shut and stripped off his boxers. The smell of smoke began to drift in from the other room. He noticed his shirt from last night still in the sink, where it had been forgotten, and stepped up to take a look. The bloodstain wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, but he thought it might still be a lost cause. He looked up in the mirror to check his nose, noticed the bruising there and wrinkled it up in dismay. It was a little sore, but nothing like last night. Those bruises would face soon enough, too. Luckily he was a quick healer.

 

Looking in the mirror brought back memories from last night. Unbidden, the feeling of Gene’s glove-clad hand on his waist rushed through his mind and made him catch his breath. Shaking his head, he went back to getting dressed - he’d follow Gene’s lead on this one and put off a proper shower until later. A bath would have been even better, but he was lucky to have a toilet and shower in here as it was. Now and again, though, he did long to soak his aching muscles in a long bath, preferably with a glass of wine and a good book. His flat back home had speakers wired in to the bathroom so he could pipe in his music _du jour_ as he soaked _._ He realised what a middle class picture he was painting, and snorted a dry laugh at himself. It was like looking at a scene from a science fiction film, now, thinking back to his flat back home. Boxers and jeans safely on, he lifted the shirt into the shower stall for now and ran some water in the sink to splash his face with, making sure to be careful around his slightly tender nose. He glanced in the mirror again, thinking that one day of stubble was probably OK for a Saturday shift, and dried himself off. The shirt and the bloodstained flannel that accompanied it went back in the sink, which he filled with cold water. They could soak in there today - it probably couldn’t make them any worse. He buttoned on the fresh shirt, snagged his boxers off the floor and went back to the hated folding door, wrestling it back open. He found Gene sitting at the table, feet up on the second chair, smoking. He’d opened one of the windows, a surprising gesture of consideration on his part. Sam dropped his boxers in the laundrette bag that he had tucked in one of the corners, and went in search of socks.

‘Thanks for opening the window,’ he said, wanting to try some positive reinforcement in case it influenced Gene’s behaviour in future.

‘Well, it was stuffy in here anyway,’ he said, obviously not wanting to be seen being too thoughtful. Sam pulled on socks and finally shoes, which had been lying tumbled on the floor next to the bed. Gene stubbed out his cigarette and stood up when he saw that Sam was ready.

‘Right. Ready to go?’ He seemed to be avoiding Sam’s gaze. Sam knew how he felt - he didn’t really want to bring up the subject of last night, but he had a feeling that if they walked out without mentioning it, and pretended it hadn’t happened, it would be definitely over. If Gene kept acting like nothing was wrong, Sam would probably never have the guts to bring it up again, too afraid of ridicule or anger. He didn’t want it to be over. He wanted Gene to promise they could talk about it, wanted him to tell him there were no regrets, wanted reassurance. He knew he was unlikely to get it but he still lingered over lifting his coat, delaying the moment that he opened the door to the outside. He realised he hadn’t answered Gene, and opened his mouth.

‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ the cliche fell from his lips, on autopilot. Neither of them was looking at the other, still, but there seemed to be no further reason to wait. Since he was nearest to the door, he decided he’d better just accept the inevitable and get on with the business of getting over this whole extraordinary encounter.

As Sam’s hand landed on the lock, Gene spoke again.

‘Tyler...’ he began, still not knowing what he was going to say to follow that up, but feeling that _something_ had to be said. Sam stopped, but didn’t turn.

‘Look, about last night...’ His heart was beating hard now, more than he could attribute just to the early morning nicotine rush. He wanted Sam to turn round, say something to let him off the hook, but he just stood there, one hand raised to the door, back turned. Gene had no idea how to finish that sentence, and stood open-mouthed until Sam finally did turn his head over his shoulder. He thought he could see some of his own feelings in those brown eyes. He couldn’t believe that he was the one bringing this up.

‘...it was... I was...’ God, he sounded like an idiot. Tyler was doing this to him on purpose, leaving him standing here and stuttering. The unaccustomed uncertainty coupled with this thought started to make him angry - an emotion he was much more comfortable with.

‘Look, I was pissed. We were both pissed.’ He saw a dulling in Sam’s eyes, a slight clench of his jaw. He still didn’t say anything.

‘So, you know, maybe we should just...’ _Just what?_ What did he want? What did he think Tyler wanted?

‘Just what?’ Tyler finally spoke, saying exactly what he had been thinking. Gene still didn’t have an answer.

‘Just have a drink later on, in the pub, and try not to break each other’s noses.’ This wasn’t at all what he had meant to say, but it seemed safe.

‘And try not to accidentally fall on each other’s lips?’ Sam suggested, tone bitter. That wasn’t safe. That was in decidedly unsafe waters, that remark.

‘Maybe your moral compass isn’t in very good working order, Tyler, but I’ve never accidentally kissed anyone in my life, thank you very much. Don’t be a smart arse.’ The man was infuriating, no doubt about it. But did Gene feel a certain pleasure in the banter? He thought he did.

Sam looked back up again, looking less huffy.

‘Never?’ he asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice and almost succeeding.

‘No, never. But I think that is a conversation best had from the outside of several measures of Scotch, don’t you?’ Sam looked at him for a few seconds longer, then nodded. A glimmer of a smile played round his mouth as he turned back to the door again, finally opening it. He didn’t mind going out, now. Nothing had really been said, but it was the right kind of nothing. The kind of nothing he could live with. The kind of nothing that maybe promised something, somewhere along the line.

 


	10. Can't Help Thinking About Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds it difficult to concentrate on his paperwork with Gene sitting opposite him.

Sam hadn’t felt this way since his very first girlfriend, when he was 14. He could hardly think straight, and concentrating on writing up his report of the stakeout was all but impossible. Gene had gone into his office at first, but had returned into the main body of the room after a while, freshly shaved and carrying a pile of reports that he had to sign off. He sat at the desk facing Sam, pushing the assorted clutter off to one side to make room for himself. It wasn’t unheard of for the Guv to come out of his office to work, but it was unusual, and Sam was finding it wholly distracting. All he could think about was kissing Gene, running his fingers through his thick hair. Each new thought sent a thrill through him, and the smell of the aftershave the Guv had applied seemed to be filling his head. He kept his head down but couldn’t resist occasional glances over as Gene waded his way through reports from the other officers about the other cases that had been going on while the rest of them were on the stakeout. His own rate of work was unprecedentedly slow, and during one of the frequent pauses while he took a trip down memory lane, Gene spoke.

‘You nearly done with that?’

‘Er, yeah. Yeah, nearly,’ he replied, not looking up but starting to write again.

‘Good. After this lot it’ll be a relief to read yours. At least you know where to put a comma.’ Gene leaned back in his chair, looking tired, and found a cigarette to light. There was an ashtray on the desk and he moved it to within tapping distance, exhaling his first puff and propping his long legs up on the desk, knocking over a pile of magazines that would have had an officer up on a disciplinary charge in 2006.

‘I bloody hate paperwork,’ he said, moodily.

‘I think you might have mentioned that once or twice, Guv,’ Sam replied, wryly. He scribbled at the end of his report, trying to make up for his slow progress until now. Nobody else had turned up, even though it was approaching noon, and there were only the two of them in CID. A constable occasionally walked past the windows, and there was someone on the desk of course, but it was very quiet.

 

Gene eased himself out of his chair and strolled back to his own office, extracting one of the ubiquitous Scotch bottles and two tumblers. Sam heard this but kept his eyes on the page in front of him, still trying to get all the details down on paper and knowing that if he looked up again he’d run the risk of losing track. The Guv sat back down opposite him and Sam heard the familiar splash of whiskey, caught the medicinal scent. Gene leaned over far enough to perch one of the glasses on a pile of files, then sat back and put his feet back up, taking his own first sip with a hiss of enjoyment. Sam continued to write for another couple of minutes, during which time the Guv was mercifully silent, then added his signature with a hurried scrawl. _Thank God that’s over_. The job had taken him three times as long as it usually would, what with his wandering mind and treacherous memory. He lifted the Scotch, feeling reckless. Usually he wouldn’t accept a drink until after hours, but this seemed like a special case.

‘Done,’ he announced, before taking a sip. Gene nodded, looking absently out of the window. ‘Where’s everyone else today?’

Just as Sam said this, Ray and Chris came in together. They looked surprised to see the other two men waiting for them, and their faces took on a hint of sheepishness.

‘Ah, the men of the hour,’ said Gene, saluting them with his drink. ‘How did last night go then?’

Ray broke into a grin, while Chris looked more sheepish, something at which he had a natural advantage.

‘I got on alright, Guv, but Chris had a bit of a nightmare, didn’t you Chris?’ He walked to his desk, turning to look at Chris as he sat down.

‘Er... yeah,’ he said, obviously not wanting to share with the group.

‘Tried out a new chat-up line, didn’t you?’ Ray said, teasingly. Chris began to blush, making a big fuss of taking off his coat and not answering.

Sam hated watching this. Ray was a bully, and Chris was too good-natured to tell him where to go. Sam was pretty sure that whatever this failed chat-up line had been, Ray was responsible for putting the idea in his head in the first place, probably with the plan of making fun of him when it fell on its face.

‘Come on then Chris, what’s the story?’ asked Gene, a faint smile on his face. He wasn’t as sensitive to the nuance of Chris and Ray’s relationship, or if he was he didn’t care. Or maybe he was just so familiar with it that he never thought twice about it any more. Chris couldn’t hide behind his coat any longer and sat glumly behind his desk, eyes downcast.

‘There was this girl I liked,’ he started, looking for a cigarette to ease the discomfort of reliving the memory. Ray butted in.

‘She were gorgeous, Guv. Huge...’

‘Yes, thank you Raymondo, I believe Chris was telling the story,’ Gene cut him off before he could get started, though his hands were painting a very clear picture on their own. Chris lit his cigarette.

‘Yeah, she looked really nice. So, we had a few jars, and then I went over to talk to her. I had it all worked out, you know, what I was gonna say.’ He took another draw, mouth still downturned. ‘But, you know, I had a bit too much Dutch courage and it came out all wrong.’ He stopped then, and even Sam watched him expectantly, drawn in against his will.

‘Well go on, what did you say to her?’ asked Gene, leaning forward on his elbows, feet now on the floor in front of him.

‘Well, what I wanted to say was “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Cos you must be an angel”.’ Sam rolled his own eyes, he couldn’t believe that people really thought those lines were a good idea. Ray laughed roughly, increasing Sam’s suspicion that he was behind this turn of phrase. Chris had tried to deliver it in a suave tone as he told the story, but the lukewarm reception sent him back for another puff on his cigarette.

‘So, I go up to her, and I say “Did it hurt?” and she looks at me, and says “Did what hurt?”. But then I got confused, and said “When you hit every branch on the way down?” You know, like that one about the ugly tree...’ Sam and Gene were both nodding, Sam with a mild horror and Gene with a smirk that he wasn’t quite able to hide. Ray continued to laugh.

‘Well, she didn’t like that. She said “What?” all high pitched and angry. So, I tried to fix it, and I got more confused, so I said “No, I mean, when you hit your face on the pavement.” And then she poured a drink over me head _and_ slapped me in the face.’ He had such a hangdog expression that Sam couldn’t help a tiny smile. Poor Chris, he meant well. The Guv and Ray were both laughing now.

‘Plenty more fish in the sea, eh Chris?’ said Gene, when he’d finished laughing at Chris’ expense. He nodded a bit glumly.

‘Maybe leave the chat up lines to the professionals though, next time,’ Ray added, finally lighting a cigarette of his own.

‘What was your winning line then, Ray?’ asked Sam, annoyed on Chris’ behalf. Ray adopted the expression he always wore when he was about to tell an outrageous lie about his sex life, which was any time he talked about it.

‘I saw this bird I liked, and I said to her “Nice dress. It’d look great on my bedroom floor”.’ He looked around for approval. ‘And then she said...’ The Guv interrupted him.

‘Yes alright Ray, I don’t think I can bear the suspense of the whole story. Did you get a result?’

Ray looked put out not to be allowed to tell the whole work of fiction. Sam excused himself for what he’d have called a ‘comfort break’ back home, but the first (and only) time Gene Hunt had heard him say that he’d laughed himself into a coughing fit, and Sam had reverted to some more vulgar expressions for the act. As he walked away he heard Ray begin his story.

‘Course I did Guv, we went out into the car park...’ The voice faded as Sam stepped through the swing doors, and headed for the toilets. Ray’s stories about women were all the same; vulgar, demeaning and almost exclusively bullshit. Sam had once seen him turn round and run off when an attractive woman started flirting with him, completely out of his depth. _What a tosser_. He opened the door to the tiled bathrooms and stepped up to one of the stalls. He remembered hiding in the Railway Arms toilets last night, head buried in his hands, and shook his head at the melodrama of it all. That memory was soon followed by the thought of Gene saying ‘ _It can be our little secret..._ ’ and that gave him another one of those jolts. It _was_ their secret, now.

 

He would have to snap out of this mooning, swooning phase. It was bad for his self respect, not to mention his work rate. He felt powerless to help it, though; every time he remembered a new detail of their encounter (their _secret_ encounter) he felt a physical reaction. It was very much like the first time a girl had reached into his trousers; all the next day he had kept reliving the experience, a constant hard on making it impossible to concentrate. He had more self control now, but the similarities couldn’t be denied. Even though the actual physical encounters with Gene had been brief, the atmosphere that had built up over the preceding week had lent a lot of power and charge to them, at least in Sam’s mind. He tried to get a hold of his train of thought again as he washed his hands, when Gene walked in. Usually there was an unwritten rule about using the bogs at the same time, and if you _were_ in there at the same time you certainly didn’t make conversation. Sam accordingly just gave Gene a sober nod, and grabbed a paper towel to dry his hands. The Guv made his way to a stall, so that his back was turned to Sam, and unexpectedly broke the second rule.

‘You hate listening to Ray talk about women, don’t you?’ he asked.

Sam continued to rub his hands dry, widening his eyes as he drew in the breath to reply.

‘Yeah, I do actually,’ he said, trying to keep his tone light.

‘To be honest with yer Tyler, so do I,’ came the surprising reply. ‘But I do it, because it’s important that we’re a team, and talking about women is one of the time honoured traditions of male bonding.’ Sam didn’t really know what to say to that, so he said nothing. He wondered if he was supposed to leave now, or if he should wait and see if the Guv had anything further to say. He didn’t have to wait long.

‘Some of Ray’s hand actions were quite instructive though, you missed out there.’

Sam still didn’t have an answer, but laughed through his nose and balled up the paper towel into a soggy mess. He tossed it in the bin and looked around at the Guv, who was now washing his hands at the sink. He continued the one-sided conversation.

‘I’ve told them I want those reports by the end of the day, so that should keep their minds more than fully occupied.’ Sam nodded, finally joining in.

‘Still no shouts though?’

‘Not a dicky-bird,’ replied Gene, now drying his own hands. ‘Still, something might come up.’

They left the bathroom together, now in companionable silence. As they got back to the office, Gene pushed the door open easily with one hand, and stepped back, holding it open. Sam stopped, a bit taken aback, and Gene gestured a tilt of the head.

‘Ladies first, is it?’ asked Sam, voice flat.

‘Age before beauty, Sam.’

‘You cheeky bastard.’ Still, Sam stepped forward through the door, brushing close to Gene as he went, instead of opening the second door to give himself more room. He breathed deeply as he did so, inhaling aftershave and lingering smoke. When he knew his back was safely to the Guv, he indulged in a small smile. He’d forgotten how fun it was to have these feelings for someone new. Even if the relationship itself went nowhere, was in fact doomed from the beginning, you still had these early days of speculation and preoccupation to revel in. He and Maya had been together long enough for the shine to have worn off things. Their relationship was so tarnished in places that you could see the sharp core of resentment shining through. When he got home, he’d work on that. They both deserved better. They both deserved romance, desire, excitement. He felt a weight of guilt try to settle on him at that thought; he was cheating on Maya. Except that it couldn’t be cheating, since none of this was real. He reminded himself of his earlier thought, that it was just like having a sex dream about someone; you couldn’t be blamed for that. Even if it was a particularly lucid dream.

He made his way back over to his desk as he thought, and looked up to find the Guv taking the seat opposite again, watching him. He wondered how much he had given away in his face; probably more than he’d like. The Guv only raised one eyebrow before looking away to his whiskey glass. Sam could use some lessons in that kind of inscrutability.

 

Gene watched Sam’s face, from a glimpse of a smile as he passed him in the doorway to the troubled frown as he sat at his desk. He thought he might be able to read some of those thoughts. Tyler had told him there was someone back in Hyde - even though he hadn’t seemed to sure if that someone would still be there when he got back, the Guv thought that she might be preying on Sam’s mind now. He was having a similar problem himself; the missus had left him, yes, but they were still married. Kissing Sam still made Gene a cheating husband. He had added this to the list of uncomfortable facts that last night’s activities had brought up. Top of the list was the fact that he couldn’t deny having been attracted to another man, that was a very uncomfortable fact indeed. Next down was the fact that this other man was attracted to him, too. After that it was hard to tell what order the problems came in, they were all equally bad. Cheating on his wife, having a relationship with a subordinate officer, almost breaking that officer’s nose... They all grouped together in one big tangle, all undeniable but somehow not enough to make him take the decision that he knew he should take: forget this ever happened, put it behind them. Tyler was a bit of a girl but he was man enough not to get hung up over something as little as a kiss, surely. They could just pretend it had all been a dream brought on by too much Scotch and a knock to the head.

The trouble was, he didn’t want to do that. He was lonely. He hated eating on his own, going to bed on his own. The possibility of finding someone who wanted to spend those hours with him, someone who challenged him and, yes, who looked at him the way Tyler had been for this last week or so, was too good to give up, however faint and clouded with complications it might be. If he could have had his choice, he’d still have gone with a buxom blonde, mind you. A buxom blonde who could cook. Still, like the man said, you can’t always get what you want.

 

He sipped at his whiskey, feet back up on the desk, enjoying as always the feeling of relaxing in his kingdom. Opposite him, Tyler was leafing a bit aimlessly through his report, maybe looking for any missing detail or maybe just trying to keep himself busy.

‘You done with your masterpiece then, Tyler?’ he asked, ready to sign it off without so much as a glance. He’d read enough of Tyler’s work to know that it was always perfect to the letter. He might pretend to read it, though, for some reason the man seemed to take offence at the idea that nobody ever read his paperwork.

‘Yes, Guv,’ Sam said, handing it over to him now. He sat back in his chair when he’d done so, sipped a little from his glass. Gene took the file and spun it right way up on his lap, opening it to begin his cursory examination. He glanced over at Sam, who was gazing into the middle distance now. Ray and Chris were busy with their own reports, Chris with his face scrunched up in deep thought as he filled the page with his slow, careful writing. He felt safe in observing Sam for a moment, wondering what he was thinking. Wondering what would happen next. They’d be out of here sooner rather than later, if no jobs came up, and would they go their separate ways tonight? Gene wasn’t up for another night in that box of a flat Tyler rather grudgingly called home, he knew that much. Sam looked over as he thought this, caught his eye. They both looked away quickly. God, were they back to this again? Making eyes at each other like schoolgirls? Not very manly.

 

Sam longed for a shower. He was aching after the fight last night, tired after his broken sleep. His hair felt heavy on his head, in need of a wash. As if hearing his thoughts, Chris broke the silence.

‘What happened to your face, Boss?’ Sam looked over at Chris’ open, honest expression. Ray looked up, too, though he was clearly less concerned and more interested in hearing who’d had a go at Sam, possibly so he could buy them a drink. Sam reached up to touch his nose, instinctively.

‘Me and the Guv had a bit of a... disagreement...’ he said, lowering his hand again. The three of them looked at Gene, who looked back calmly, glass in hand.

‘That’s right. Tyler was casting aspersions on my judgement, I had to set him straight.’

Ray chuckled appreciatively, while Chris looked a bit puzzled, probably by the word ‘aspersions’. Sam and the Guv coming to blows was nothing out of the ordinary, there was no need to make up any big cover story. Sam glanced back at Gene, and this time their eyes met for a little longer. He could have sworn that one of the blue eyes flickered shut in a wink before turning back to the report spread open in Gene’s lap. This did nothing to aid his concentration.

After ten minutes, Gene reached for a pen and signed off Sam’s paperwork. He added it to the pile he’d been working on already that morning.

‘Well, that’s that out of the way, thank God,’ he said, taking another nip of whiskey as a reward. Sam got to his feet.

‘I’ll get them filed, then.’ He walked around the desk to lift the files in a two-armed sweep. He wanted to get out of the office for a bit; a fug of blue smoke was beginning to form, even the dusty air of the paper archives would be a relief. Gene didn’t say anything as Sam walked past, towards the door. He turned to push it open with his back, and reversed into the corridor. He gave a start when he felt hands on his back, and spun around, letting one of the files slide off the pile onto the floor. He found Annie standing before him, out of uniform, her hands raised and blue eyes wide with fright.

‘Watch out, Sam!’ she said, blinking away her surprise and starting to smile. ‘You nearly ran me over!’

Sam smiled back. ‘Sorry. Oh, no, here, I’ll get that...’ She had started to bend down to pick up the dropped file, and he crouched quickly to beat her to it. They both ended up reaching for it at the same time, and their hands touched briefly. Annie drew hers back, shyly, and looked up into his face. He smiled awkwardly and lifted the file, adding it back to the pile that he was now balancing on his bent knee. Her eyes widened again.

‘What’s happened to your face?’ she asked, looking worried.

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just been on the receiving end of a frank and open debate with the Guv, you know how it is.’ Annie’s arm moved as though to reach out towards him, to run her fingers over the bruising, but she stopped herself. Sam wasn’t surprised - that kind of thing was more his style. He smiled at her to show that he was alright, but her eyes stayed serious, crossing the bridge of his nose and taking in the damage. Sam was glad she hadn’t been there to see it last night, if she was worried about a bit of a bruise. They stayed hunkered down, Sam feeling renewed confusion and guilt with each passing second. He tried to remind himself that he shouldn’t feel guilty when it came to Annie, she was out getting on with her own life. This reminded him of her plans for the night before.

‘So how was your date last night?’ he asked, not knowing what he wanted the reply to be.

‘Oh...’ she looked away from him then, gathered herself together and stood up. He followed suit. ‘Yeah it was really nice.’ She obviously felt uncomfortable talking to Sam about it. He wondered what she’d say if he told her about his own night, the whole story about the burst nose and the unexpected but welcome attentions afterwards. Trying to change the subject, she asked,

‘How was your night? Heard you started early...’ There was a hint of playfulness in her tone, trying to draw him into a pretend fight about bunking off a couple of hours before time.

‘Well, couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I?’ he teased.

‘I think our ideas of fun might be a bit different, Sir,’ she shot back, trying to wind him up with that _‘Sir’_. He raised his eyebrows archly.

‘Oh really, WPC Cartwright? Well that _is_ interesting...’ God help him, even when he’d spent all morning thinking about kissing their DCI, he still couldn’t help flirting with Annie. He felt pulled in several directions at once, not in control of himself. She smirked at him.

‘At least mine doesn’t leave me with bruises. Not where it shows anyway.’ This was extremely risque for the usually ladylike Annie, and Sam’s eyebrows hiked up a little higher. She blushed and giggled, dropping her eyes and brushing imaginary fluff off her skirt.

‘What are you doing in today, anyway? Thought you had the weekend off?’ Sam asked her, trying to get back to business and away from the seductive pleasantness of this conversation.

‘I do, I just had to stop in to get me brolly. Left it behind last night and you know what the weather’s like round here.’ He couldn’t have hoped for something more bland to take the edge off their chat.

‘True,’ he said. He hoisted the files into a more secure grip, held them up. ‘I’d better get these down to the collator’s office.’ She smiled and nodded at him.

‘Alright Sam. See you on Monday, yeah?’

‘See you then, Annie.’ She walked past him without stopping for a so much as a pat on the arm, on her way to the locker room. He wondered if her new beau was outside waiting for her. He wondered if he was tall. Feeling a bit moody, he made his way to the dusty little room full of neglected papers.

 

 


	11. Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is given an invitiation he can't refuse, and finds himself once again in the Railway Arms, not sure of what's going on with him and Gene.

Sam spent another couple of hours with the paper archives, getting dust up his nose and a few papercuts in exchange for tidying away the precarious stack of files that had been collecting on the desk. He liked having things in order, was amazed by the lack of discipline that the others showed when it came to filing. There was no point in doing the stuff if it was only going to end up in a pile, how would anyone ever find it again? So he took the time to put the place in order, not rushing. It was good to keep himself occupied, and when he was finished he felt the satisfaction of a job well done. He’d also been glad of a chance to not speak to anyone, or see anyone, for a while, get his head cleared a bit. With everything else that was going on with him, you’d think he’d have the sense not to get mixed up in some secret fling with his boss, and maybe he did have the sense after all. A bit of quiet time seemed to have set his libido straight again, so to speak. He made his way back to the office and found it deserted.

 

There was a note in the middle of his clear desk.

 

_Got a shout. See you in the pub later. That’s an order._

 

Sam couldn’t believe they’d gone off without him. He’d only been down the corridor, for Christ’s sake. He thought of Ray sitting in the passenger seat of the Cortina with a stab of jealousy. He didn’t know what to do now - technically, he could go home, having nothing else to do and it being his sixth day in. He didn’t like leaving the place empty, though. Maybe he would have a look in the Guv’s office, see if there was any stray paperwork that needed sorted out. He was on a bit of a roll with that today. As DI he could sign off anything that Gene had missed, and anything that was completed could go in the newly re-organised collator’s office.

He stopped at the threshold to the Guv’s domain, hesitating before going in. It was weird to see it empty, to be here without the Guv. He breathed in delicately. There was still a hint of aftershave under the overtones of cigarette smoke. He stepped up to the desk and looked through the piles of folders, newspapers and magazines there. There were a few things that needed filed, and he gathered them up, taking pride in being the only organised officer in the division. He tucked the slim stack under has arm and strolled back out, meaning to take them to the archives. Just by the door, the Guv’s litter bin sat. The cleaners came round on a Friday night, but there was something sitting in there. Must be from today. Sam almost walked past when he caught a glimpse of his name, and stopped.

Rooting through someone else’s rubbish wasn’t the kind of thing a normal, well-adjusted person would do. Sam knew that. But, he wasn’t feeling particularly well-adjusted just lately, and crouched down to do exactly that. He lifted out three crumpled balls of paper, all from the same notebook as the note on his desk. He uncrumpled them and read them. The first said only

 

_Sam_

 

This was the one that had caught his eye. There were no other words. The second read

 

_Tyler, out on a shout. See you later in the pub, if you’re up to it. I’ll buy the first_

 

This one made a bit more sense, but Gene must have changed his mind about offering to buy Sam a drink, maybe thinking it too out of character. The last scrap of paper said

 

_Dorothy, Railway Arms, you and me._

 

This one must have seemed a bit too suggestive, reckoned Sam. He smiled to himself, thinking that nobody would believe the story of Gene Hunt writing four drafts of one simple note like this. He was oddly touched, despite the tone of the final version, and he smoothed out the crumpled pages and folded them absently into his back pocket.

 

He returned to the collator’s office, shelving the new files in their proper places. Back in the office, it was still calm. Three o’clock and all’s well, he thought. Three - was it too early to leave? If he hadn’t been out in the car all week he probably wouldn’t be there today at all, and he’d managed to get some good done while he was. He decided he’d pop out to the desk, have a chat with whichever PC was on, make sure everything was alright, then maybe head home for that shower. Gene and the others would be on their radios if anything else came up, and they had his number. Unable to think of any counter-arguments that were half as convincing, he lifted his jacket, and spied the remains of his Scotch on the desk. On impulse, he knocked it back before he left. No point letting decent whiskey go to waste, eh? Sam from ‘Hyde’ would have been appalled at this, but he was a different man now, a man to fit the times.

 

Nothing had been doing at the desk, and Sam had left the station with the PC’s promise that they would call him if they needed to. After that, he had strolled the short distance home and enjoyed a long, leisurely shower. The water never got that hot but it was bliss after looking forward to it all day. He’d had a shave in the steamy bathroom mirror, wandered back out with a towel round his waist and decided to grab a quick kip before he went out. Miraculously, nobody came bursting through his front door, and there were no dreams. Just an hour, a cat nap really, but by God it felt like luxury. After waking up he got himself dressed again and cooked up a real dinner (at least, more real that the food in boxes he’d been eating all week), leafing through a book and sipping a glass of wine as he ate. It was now coming on for seven, and he decided he’d better follow orders and get himself to the Railway Arms.

 

He was feeling almost normal, good even, as he pulled on his jacket and stepped out of the flat. Seconds later there was a scrabble of his key in the lock as he rushed back through the door and up to the mirror. He had a look at himself, ruffled up his hair a bit, checked his breath. Satisfied, he left again, this time for the night.

 

Approaching the Railway Arms, he felt that familiar tension in his gut again. This time it was tinged with excitement more than anxiety. The Guv would be in there, he knew he wouldn't let him down. He pushed open the door, head up and looking around. He spotted the CID lads straight away, the Guv in that same seat facing the door. Their gazes met as the Guv laughed at something, his eyes bright. Sam grinned back at him. He couldn't help it. He strolled over to the bar to get himself a drink before he took a seat. Nelson added a third smile to the room as he greeted Sam and poured his large Scotch.

'You been left out of the action today, Sam?' he asked.

'Yeah, looks like it Nelson,' Tyler replied, affably. 'Now and again it's OK to be out of the loop.' 

Nelson looked at him, face still relaxed but keen eyes taking in every detail. 'Well, you look better for it. Sometimes we all need a rest.'

Sam bought Nelson a drink when he paid for his own. He took his Scotch over to the table, taking a seat next to the Guv.

 

'Alright, Boss?' asked Chris. 'You missed a right laugh this afternoon.'

'Oh yeah?' asked Sam.

'We was called out for a robbery, but when we got there the blaggers was all rounded up in the corner of the shop...' he stopped to laugh, the others joining in. He recovered himself and finished, '...they was all rounded up in the corner, and this one old bird was stood in front of them with her walking stick. She must've been about eighty, and she had these three lads shaking like a leaf!'

Sam grinned. 'What, she herded them up with her walking stick? On her own?'

Ray joined in now. 'Her and the bloke behind the counter. The bloke used to be a boxer, he knocked one of them over when he drew the gun, and the old dear caught another one round the back of the legs with her stick. The third one didn't know what to do, before he knew it the three of them was in the back shop and we were on our way. The shopkeeper left the pensioner to watch them while he called it in, and when one of them tried to move she rattled him with the business end of her stick again. After that they just waited like good little sheep. Think they was glad to see us!'

The four of them laughed again; this was better than the telly.

The Guv finally spoke. 'So, we nicked them, hauled them in and banged them up. They admitted everything, couldn't get it off their chests fast enough. Bunch of girls.' His face had returned to neutral, but he gave off an air of great satisfaction, mingled with contempt for these incompetent sods. Sam chuckled at the idea, sipping his whiskey.

'Well, my afternoon in the collator's office definitely pales in comparison. I must've just missed you coming back.'

'Not to worry Gladys, we managed without you,' said the Guv. Sam could no longer grudge him for going off without saying anything; his half day had done him the world of good, and maybe Gene had even planned it that way.

 

They relived some of the finer details of the afternoon for a while longer, Chris in particular collapsing into fits of the giggles every time the old dear's weapon of choice came up. Talk turned to other matters eventually; sport, birds, the usual. After an hour or so, Ray stood up and said 'Come on then Chris, get your game face on.'

Sam looked questioningly at them both. Chris caught his look. 'We're off to meet a couple of birds, Boss. The ones from the wedding.'

'What, the one who slapped you in the face?'

'Yeh... I spoke to her again later on, bought her a pint to apologise. She was really nice about it, after that...'

'Good for you, Chris,' Sam said, genuinely. Chris meant well, it would do his confidence good to meet a nice women. Pity Ray would be there with him, but maybe he'd be too distracted to do any damage. Chris smiled at him as they left, gave him a thumbs up. Sam smiled back, raised a hand in goodbye. He turned to Gene.

'Think he's in with a shot?'

'No chance, Sammy-boy. Our Chris couldn't chat up a bird if his life depended on it.' He finished his drink, then stood up. 'You ready for another?' Sam was. As Gene went to the bar, Sam made himself comfortable at the table. Well, here they were in the pub again. Just the two of them, on a Saturday night, not a care in the world. Well, a lot of cares, but he felt like he had risen above them for now. Long may it last.

 

When Gene got back, there was a spell of silence as they sipped their whiskey. Gene pulled Ray's empty chair a little closer to put his feet up, and Sam copied him with the other vacant seat. Nelson had the TV on again, and they idly watched Rising Damp with the sound off, laughing at the obvious gags and making occasional comment. The whiskey went down easily, and before long they were ready for another, which Sam fetched without asking. The near-silence had become less natural now, and when Gene took his feet of the chair and turned in towards the table, Sam felt a flutter of interest. He kept his own feet up but turned his head, trying to stay casual.

 

'Well, Tyler, what would you say to a nightcap?'

He pondered this, not sure what it meant. 'I'd say it was a bit early, Guv. I've only just got here.'

'Allow me to rephrase. What would you say to a nightcap back at home?'

Sam didn't answer straight away. What did 'home' mean? Gene took a hit of his Scotch as he waited for the answer to this cryptic question. Sam stalled for time.

'You had a falling out with Nelson?' Gene looked impatient.

'Of course not, me and Nelson have an understanding, one man of influence to another. I just think a change of scene is in order.'

The good mood of the afternoon and the buzz from the wine and Scotch encouraged Sam to edge into slightly risky territory.

'Well, Guv, what did you have in mind: your place or mine?' He waited for the reaction, and it came soon enough, and without any of the protests that he might have expected.

'Don't be such a prat. Catch me spending any more time than I have to in that box you call a flat...' So, it was to be back to the Guv's then. Sam took another sip of his whiskey, feeling the warm burn mingle with the anticipation rising from his chest. He nodded, as if this sounded perfectly within reason. The Guv nodded back, face set in that serious pout Sam knew so well.

'That's settled then. Come on, get that down you,' he finished, knocking back the rest of his Scotch. 'I'll relieve Nelson of some of his finest.' Sam took his time over the last of his own drink, not wanting to hover over Gene's shoulder as he spoke to Nelson. As they left, though, he couldn't resist a glance over his shoulder at the barman, who was drying off a stack of pint glasses. He looked over at their retreating backs, and gave Sam a one-sided smile and the barest hint of a nod. He knew, alright, or at least he had a good idea, and his approval meant more to Sam than he'd have given credit to. Sam smiled bashfully back, then followed Gene out to the Cortina.

 

Gene Hunt was the kind of man who made a decision and stuck to it. This particular decision had been a long time in the making; it had started when he began to notice Tyler looking at him differently, and to notice himself looking back. It had gone from a hypothetical something to a real something last night, and while he’d escaped from Sam’s flat without having to have The Talk about what happened next, he’d known he would have to decide sometime, and soon. He’d taken the opportunity to leave Sam behind today in the hope that some time away from his DI might help him gain some perspective. It was hard to come to a conclusion with him sitting only feet away, pretending to do his paperwork. Gene had noticed the little glances, and the way Sam had chosen to brush past him in the doorway (which he had chosen to hold open for him, let's not forget that). He couldn't think. As it happened, getting out in the car with Ray and Chris really had been an eye-opener; to put it simply, he'd missed Tyler. Missed him a lot. If he couldn't go a few hours without him, what would it be like if he took the sensible decision and cut their 'romance' off now, before it became something? They'd both start to find reasons to stay away from each other, and when Sam went back to Hyde as he kept threatening to do, he would have lost the best partner he'd known in all these years. The best friend.

Unaccustomed as he was to having to examine his own emotions, you didn't need a magnifying glass to see that Tyler was more than even that. Gene felt drawn to him, why else would they spend so many waking hours arguing and fighting, faces inches apart, hands tight on arms and collars? He didn't get up close and personal with Ray, or Chris, or anyone else at the station. Mind you, nobody else infuriated him like Sam did, challenged him at every turn, made sarcastic remarks a dozen times a day. The man was a pain in the arse, but Gene knew that if he was gone, life would seem much emptier.

Jesus, all this thinking about feelings; he sounded like an absolute fairy. If anyone had dared accuse him of fancying another man he’d have knocked them out, no questions asked. He didn’t feel like a fairy. He felt the same as always, except for this one, small detail. But, like a stone in his shoe, this small detail was starting to feel like a boulder. He sighed as they drove up towards the house. The decision of what to do about Tyler had made itself, really, even before they’d kissed. He couldn’t do without him.

 

‘Here we are then,’ said Gene, as he pulled the car up outside his house. ‘Get the beers, Tyler.’ He’d barely stopped the engine before he was out of the car and striding up the path to the door. Sam let himself out, opened the back door to pick up the carry out from Nelson, and followed him. He joined him at the door just as Gene unlocked it, and they stepped inside. Gene’s heart was beating a little too fast. He’d never brought anyone here before - not like this. It had started to feel like a mistake. It wasn’t too late to let Tyler down gently, to turn his back on all the baffling thoughts and feelings he’d been having lately. He thought this as he stepped through the door, going straight to the living room on autopilot and shrugging his coat off over the usual chair. He realised that Sam wasn’t behind him, and turned back to see where he’d got to, almost hoping that he might have had his own doubts and legged it back down the street. He was faced with the sight of the man balancing on one leg, trying to hold the bag of beers and get his boots off at the same time. _Daft bastard_ , he thought, affectionately. He reached out. 

‘Here, give us those.’ Sam handed over the bag with a smile, aware of how ridiculous he must look. ‘Well, you’ve got manners anyway Tyler, I’ll say that for you. Shoes off in the house; your mother did a good job.’ Sam went back to getting his boots off, finding it much easier with both hands free. He lined them up neatly and hung his coat on the rack above. Gene turned and headed into the kitchen to pour them a drink; he felt like he needed one before he started thinking too much again. He heard Tyler come into the living room behind him and stop to look around.

‘Nice place, Guv,’ he called through, appreciatively. Gene looked out a couple of glasses and took the cans and Scotch out of the bag Nelson had given him.

‘Where should I sit?’ asked Tyler, then. What kind of question was that?

‘Sit on your arse,’ he shouted back, as he added a measure of whiskey to the glasses. He lifted the cans and the two glasses easily in his broad hands and made his way back through. Sam had sat on one end of the couch, leaving plenty of space for Gene to sit down without them being close. He contrasted this comfortable arrangement with the cramped conditions in Tyler’s bedsit, and found it lacking in some respects. There was something to be said for finding yourself at close quarters with nowhere else to go. If he’d brought Tyler back here to get cleaned up things might have been different, all the extra space around them might have taken the heat out of the situation, left him better able to resist the unfamiliar urges he’d felt.

As he placed their drinks on the coffee table, he knew that Tyler had probably been thinking something similar, wondering if the gap between them on the sofa would mean they never got close tonight. The thought of going through all these mental gymnastics for no reason was infuriating. Before he could talk himself out of it, out of the decision he’d made this afternoon, he lifted Tyler’s whiskey and took the extra step to hand it to him. As Sam reached out to take it, Gene leaned down, placed a hand on the back of the sofa and kissed him firmly. Their hands met round the glass again, Tyler’s fingers tight on his. He felt the other man’s indrawn breath of surprise and for a moment thought he was going to flinch back, imagined the embarrassment he’d feel if that happened. Before he could worry about it, though, he felt Sam’s lips press against his, felt his mouth open to welcome the kiss. He let out a slow breath of his own, closing his eyes. The unfamiliar feel of Sam’s mouth on his own was intoxicating. This was undeniably the right decision. What other choice had there been, really?

 

When they broke apart again, Gene let go of the glass and turned to bring both cans and his own whiskey a little further down the table. He turned back again to see Sam gawping up at him, eyes sparkling. He took a seat somewhere in the middle of the couch, and a sip of whiskey.

‘Think we’ve got some things to talk about,’ he said, tone neutral but still feeling the aftereffects of both kiss and alcohol. A dangerous mix, you might say.

Sam’s eyes had become guarded again, and he took a sip of his drink before answering. Gene waited.

‘Yeah I s’pose we do, Guv,’ he replied, seriously. Neither of them seemed to know what to say next, so Gene decided to start out with the hard facts.

‘Nobody can know about this,’ he stated, knowing from Sam’s actions today that he was clear on this already. He was nodding now.

‘I know.’ He paused, then seemed unable to help himself adding, ‘Our little secret, eh?’

Gene laughed through his nose but also nodded.

‘I won’t tell if you wont?’

‘That’s the one,’ said Sam, his face taking on a hint of smile at the memory of yesterday’s conversation in the pub. He kept talking.

‘So, this thing we’re not telling anyone about - what is it?’

Gene considered this, taking another chaste sip from his glass. Plenty of time to get drunk after this was done, he needed to keep himself on the level for now. The trouble was, he didn’t really know how to answer the question, drunk or sober.

‘Well...’ he started, slightly stalling for time. ‘I think it’s two blokes finding themselves lacking in the birds department, for a start...’

Sam looked a bit troubled by this, but didn’t answer. Gene knew he hadn’t really been truthful there, felt that he was selling Tyler short. There wasn’t a shortage of birds in Manchester, if Gene had wanted to get out and meet one he knew that a flash of the badge and a Dubonnet and lemonade could open a lot of doors for him. He tried again.

‘I dunno Tyler. It’s a bit early to say, don’t you think?’ He thought that got to the truth of the matter better. Sam seemed to consider it, still looking a little hurt at the implication that he was just a standby for Gene in the absence of any immediately available women. He decided to wait again for an answer instead of digging himself any deeper into trouble. He watched Sam take a sip of his drink, eyes turned away. Eventually he had something to say.

‘You’re probably right. You’ll probably find yourself a bird by next weekend anyway.’

‘Come on Tyler, it’s not like that.’

‘What _is_ it like then, Guv?’

‘Oh don’t act the madam with me, you know I’ve got no idea. Nor’ve you or you wouldn’t be coming the injured princess.’ God dammit, he’d meant to keep it together but Sam knew how to push his buttons. All his buttons, unfortunately, or he’d never be having this conversation in the first place. He gauged Sam’s reaction, seeing the anger rising and the other man clenching his jaw round it. Their eyes blazed at each other as both tried to compose themselves. Sam managed it first.

‘Alright, Guv, you’re right. I don’t know what’s going on here. I suppose I can’t expect you to either. It’s not exactly business as usual, is it?’ Gene couldn’t agree more. This was so far from usual, it wasn’t funny.

‘Too true...’ he decided he’d try some more honesty, since it was probably the only way they could come out the other side of this conversation without punching each other.

‘Never done this before. Never wanted to.’ He carried on, concentrating on his Scotch. ‘Not with a bloke. Never.’

Sam was taking another sip of his own drink. When it was done, he replied.

‘Me neither. Not even at college.’ Gene didn’t really get what college had to do with it, and it must have showed in his face.

‘You know what they say - people always experiment at college. With other guys. Or girls. Or drugs.’ Gene still felt like this was a stupid thing to say. Again his face gave him away.

‘I suppose they’re probably not talking about police college,’ Sam finished, defeated.

‘They are most certainly not. Anything like that went on in my day at college, we’d have got a good kicking and sent off crying to our mothers.’ Sam gave a weak chuckle at that. It was true, though, and while Gene would like to say he was a tolerant man (despite what people thought), in a case like this he might well have been one of the ones administering that kicking. He’d grown up over time, didn’t have anything against the queers these days, but he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of working with one. And what did that say about him now?

 

That silence had descended again, and Gene wished that things could just go back to normal. This was no way for a man to spend a Saturday night. Sam interrupted his thoughts.

‘And what about now? Are you going to give me a good kicking for it? Again?’

His words were sharp but his tone not as petty as earlier. He was still tense, holding himself ill at ease on the couch. His slim form leaned forward over his knees, held up by his elbows. He held the whiskey glass in both hands, rolling it between his palms a little. Gene put his own glass down, feeling the need to drink something he could take a good draught of. He cracked open his own beer, then offered the other to Tyler.

‘Thirsty work, this,’ he offered, hoping to make more peace between them. Sam turned to look at him, not reaching to take it. That hadn’t been one of those whatdyoucallit questions, then.

‘Go on, take it.’ Sam still sat, unmoving. ‘Come on. Of course I’m not going to give you a kicking. I gave you a kicking the other night because you were being a mouthy sod and you deserved it.’ He wasn’t sure if that was really the answer Sam had wanted, but after a second more the beer was taken from him, the whiskey placed neatly on the table. He still didn’t open it though.

‘Is this all one big joke to you, Guv?’

‘Do I look like I’m laughing?’ How Sam could accuse him of joking he didn’t now. Couldn’t he see how hard this was? Gene was not used to questioning himself, or anyone else questioning him for that matter. Denying all the self-wisdom of nearly forty years was enough to send anyone backing off, but here he was trying to do exactly that. He, Gene, was putting himself through a lot of discomfort here, and he was getting no thanks for it.

‘You’re meant to be the expert on all this feelings stuff, Tyler. That’s definitely your department.’

Sam gave a dry laugh, then finally opened his beer and took a drink. ‘You have no idea.’ he said, distantly. Gene felt like they were at an impasse, no further forward and both of them edgy. How did people do this? This is why you shouldn’t try to talk about feelings.

 

‘Tyler, I’m in this up to me neck. Don’t want to see it pissed away just because I’m no good at talking, do I? Come on, do me a favour.’ This was a bit more than he’d really wanted to admit. Why did everything have to come in black or white? Usually Gene didn’t have any time for ‘grey areas’ but he felt like he’d stepped on a rollercoaster by accident and he’d like to get off, now. He looked at Sam to see his reaction. He was still leaning forward over his knees, holding the beer can just as he had the Scotch. Rolling it back and forth between his palms, he almost seemed hypnotised by the gentle motion. Gene itched to take the can off him but restrained himself. Finally Sam had marshalled his thoughts.

‘Well... Since neither of us has a clue what’s going on... Maybe the best thing is to let it play itself out. See what happens. Be open-minded,’ he turned to Gene then with a slightly wicked gleam in his eye. Gene thought there might be two sides to that statement, and one of them was catching his imagination. Open-minded. That sounded like it could be fun.

‘Luckily for you I’m one of the most open-minded men in the city, eh? Well apart from them perverts down Canal Street. It’s not just their minds that open.’ Sam laughed, and Gene felt the tension rise from them and thought they might be in the clear, now. See what happens. That sounded OK.

 

‘Right, well if we’ve got that sorted out, I suggest we drink these beers and put the sport on. Might catch the end of Match of the Day.’ Sam raised his can in a silent toast and went to work finishing it. Gene stood up to snap on the TV. When he got back to the couch, he sat himself a little nearer Sam. Not touching; he wasn’t going to go in for a cuddle. Things hadn’t got that far yet.

 

 


	12. Miracle Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally going to happen. Isn't it?

They sat and watched Match of the Day, and drank beer and Scotch, just like any two heterosexual guys might on a Saturday night. Except for the way that they did seem to be edging a little closer together with every fidget, until their legs touched any time one of them stood up to refill their glass or visit the small room at the top of the stairs, and their hands resting on the couch brushed against each other occasionally. Sam was restraining a grin with some difficulty. He was at that nice phase of drunk where he could enjoy this flirtation, each only touching the other enough so that they could pretend it had been an accident if questioned on it. Gene lit up another cigarette, holding it away from Sam in his left hand, in a small but noticed gesture of consideration. As he relaxed into his seat, his shoulder pressed oh-so lightly against Sam’s, and this time didn’t shift away again. Such a small amount of contact but it felt red hot. Sam drained his beer, tilting his head back to catch the last drops. There was a whiskey chaser waiting for him, but he thought that might be the last drink of tonight. The last nightcap. 

Gene smoked and sipped his own whiskey, now and again commenting on the football results. Every time he spoke, Sam’s heart jumped. He didn’t know if Gene was going to invite him to bed tonight, and didn’t know if he was going to go if that happened. He thought he wanted to; the atmosphere was so charged, his skin was tingling with it. He’d managed to keep up a light conversation only with difficulty, particularly as the booze had disappeared down his neck. Losing his virginity hadn’t been this exciting; he’d spent most of the night miserable with nerves, unable to really enjoy what was happening for wondering if he was doing it right. To make things worse, it had turned out he wasn’t. This memory did bring up some similar concerns that he’d been keeping at bay. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d never been with another guy like that ( _like this_ , supplied his treacherous mind) and beyond kissing, which seemed to be just the same, he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to do, or wanted to have done. That was probably where _see what happens_ came in. Anyway, no point getting himself worked up over it, in either sense, when it might not happen at all.

 

The Match of the Day credits started to roll, and Gene stubbed out his cigarette. He let out a huge yawn that seemed completely genuine; Sam had forgotten that Gene hadn’t had the benefit of a restful afternoon at home. And he’d slept in the armchair last night. Sam might end up sleeping on the couch after all. Gene finished the last of his whiskey, then leaned his head back on the sofa, holding the glass in his lap.

‘Well, Sammy-boy,’ (Sam felt his heart leap again). ‘Looks like it’s past my bedtime.’ 

Sam nodded, trying to look relaxed. ‘Another long day,’ he managed. Their shoulders had been brought a little more firmly together and still neither of them moved away. Sam didn’t know if he’d ever sat so still in his life. He couldn’t trust himself to look directly at Gene, but broke his stasis by taking a drink. He felt like his whole body was buzzing. Gene stood up then, and Sam was gutted to have the heat taken away, the moment ended. He finished his Scotch, shifted to lean forward on his knees, looked up at the other man. Gene looked back down at him, and Sam was more aware than ever of the physical advantages the Guv had over him. God, even that was pushing his buttons; him, who never dated a woman who was taller than him in her heels, turned on by the physical stature of another man. Who knew?

Gene was still looking down at him.

‘You coming, then?’ he asked, sounding casual.

‘No, Guv, it’s just the way I’m sitting.’ That had slipped out by reflex, the stupid old joke. It cracked Gene’s face open in a broad smile though, and he gave a curt laugh.

‘Maybe we can do better than that,’ he grinned. With this, he made his way carefully past Sam. his thigh passing within an inch of the sitting man’s nose, and out of the room. Sam heard him begin to climb the stairs. That was the invite, then, the one he hadn’t been sure was going to happen at all. It had definitely just happened. Hadn’t it? There wasn’t really any other way to take that, surely? His mind was swimming, marinaded in hormones and alcohol. Gene had reached the top of the stairs and Sam heard a door open - one of the two bedroom doors above his head. He decided to follow him up instead of sitting here on the couch.

 

As he reached the top of the stairs and saw the open bedroom door, his heart lurched. It had been so long since he’d spent the night with someone, and he wanted this so much. He needed a minute to calm down. Instead of heading into the bedroom, he turned on the bathroom light and went in, closing the door behind him. He ran some water, splashed it over his face and wrists. He looked at himself in the mirror over the sink. _God, I’m hiding in the toilet. AGAIN._ He took a deep breath, fixed his own gaze. _Keep it together_ , he told himself sternly. _Be cool_. He sounded just like seventeen year old Sam, telling himself that no matter what, no matter how much he liked a girl, he had to be cool. He thought he’d grown up a bit since then but it seemed that when it came to going to bed with someone new, he was still the same bundle of nerves he’d been back then. It had been a long time since the feeling had been so intense, though. He didn’t want to lose face in front of Gene, didn’t want to jeopardise their relationship by being too keen. He couldn’t stay in here any longer; maybe something was going to happen, something he’d been secretly wanting for weeks, but it wasn’t going to happen if he spent the night looking at himself in the mirror. With a final splash of water to try and cool his ardour, he dried off his face and hands and stepped out of the bathroom. The bedroom door was right next to him, and he went through it.

 

It was pitch dark in here. At first he wasn’t even sure if Gene was in there, and he wondered with sinking heart if he’d gone into the next room, only leaving this door open for Sam to find his way to the spare bed. Then Gene gave a low cough from the bed. He was there, and waiting. Sam’s blood beat hard in his ears.

‘Shut the door behind you, Tyler,’ Gene said, as Sam started to get used to the gloom. He did as instructed, leaning around and flicking off the light in the hallway first. Shit, it really was pitch dark now, he hoped there wasn’t any furniture to trip over. He walked carefully back towards the bed, taking slow strides and feeling for any obstacles. His shin found the corner of the bed, and he edged himself round it, using it as a guide against his calf as he made his way. He stopped when he judged himself to be about mid-way up and wondered what to do next. Was Gene undressed in there? Or had he kept at least some of his clothes on to create a barrier between them? There was no way of knowing. His heightened senses registered deep, even breathing. God, what if he was already asleep? That would make all this wondering look so stupid, he’d never remember it without cringing; _the day I thought Gene Hunt was coming on to me_.

 

As Sam unbuttoned his shirt, Gene lay in the dark and listened. He lay on his back in the cold bed, all his clothes bar his boxers in a heap to one side. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on hanging them anywhere, just wanting to get into bed before Sam followed him. He knew that whatever was going to happen between them, it’d be easier for it to happen in the dark. And he wanted something to happen, God yes. He heard the gentle rustle of Sam’s quick hands, then the sound of his shirt falling to the floor. Next there was the sound of belt buckle and zip, and the soft crumple of jeans pooling round Sam’s ankles. His already interested dick gave a lively twitch at that image; he couldn’t see Sam, but he could picture him standing there, trousers round his ankles, naked from the waist up with that silver medallion nestling in the hollow of his collarbones. This was happening. He was about to be in bed with a stripped-down Sam Tyler. He tried to keep his breathing steady, his head clear. If Sam climbed in and turned his back to him, made it obvious he was ready for sleep and nothing more, he would go along with it and maybe they’d never speak of this again. If, on the other hand, he got in and faced him, even touched him, he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to contain himself. If he was half hard already, how would he feel then? As he thought this, the bed springs dipped as Sam sat down. Gene heard more rustling, felt movement. Socks - he was taking his socks off before bed. What a gentleman.

 

Sam had no further reason to delay. He was down to his shorts, and that seemed like a safe bet for any eventuality. Now he just had to make that small move that would send his feet under the covers and his head to the pillows. Into bed. Next to Gene. He felt a stirring in his boxers, felt his skin break out in a shiver. _Jesus_. _This is really happening_.

He slid under the covers carefully and lay on his back, at the edge of the mattress. He could feel the heat coming from Gene’s body, could feel his head spinning in the darkness. His eyes weren’t getting used to it this time, there really was no light to be had, no matter how wide his pupils got. The scent of Gene, masculine and smoky, filled his nose. He was both terrified and turned on. Experimentally, he slid further into bed, until his arm barely touched Gene’s, and he held himself there. Just like on the couch, he wanted to be able to pretend he hadn’t done it on purpose, even though it was clearly the most calculated move of the whole evening. He felt Gene’s arm shift closer, pressing deliberately against him, and then his senses lit up as a strong hand swept over his own, fingers trailing across the back, and closed around his wrist. The pressure increased briefly, and then he found himself turning on to his side as Gene did the same, so that they faced each other across a narrow gap, unable to see but knowing what they would find if they moved only a little closer. Sam lay flat on his side, tucking his left arm in to his body, as he felt Gene’s right arm slide up under the pillows, under Sam’s neck. Gene reached out his other hand, and landed clumsily but gently on Sam’s upper arm. He traced the curve of it down to the elbow, then up again to the shoulder, thumb running ahead to stroke the curve of Sam’s neck. Sam felt a rush of adrenaline.

 

Gene lay there, one arm under Tyler’s head and the other stroking Sam’s bicep, mesmerised by his own actions. The darkness made him feel less self-conscious, but there was no getting past the simple fact that he was touching up another officer of the law, another man, and he was enjoying it. He slid his hand further up until it was curled round the back of Sam’s neck, and drew his head firmly towards his own as he leaned forward. He was off the mark with his first kiss, which landed only half on Sam’s mouth, but Sam seemed to like it. He gave a breathless gasp against Gene’s face, and Gene repeated the action, this time touching the very tip of his tongue to the corner of Sam’s lips. He was rewarded with another gasp, a flood of heat and Scotch against his skin. He lifted his mouth away, but only for a second so that he could position his next kiss properly. As their open mouths pressed together, Gene felt everything else fade away. It didn’t matter; none of it mattered. All that he could think about was how this felt, right here and now. There would be time to think later. For now, he surrendered to the enjoyment.

 

Sam began to kiss back, after that initial frozen moment. How had Gene known that kissing him that way was a sure-fire way to turn him on? It must have been an accident, but oh, what a happy accident it had been. He pressed his lips against Gene’s, bringing his tongue out only sparingly at first, trying to keep control over himself. He reached across that narrow gap and found the Guv’s waist. He thought he felt a slight flinch when he made contact, but kept his hand where it was until Gene relaxed into it, then used his grip there to ease their bodies closer. Not pressing together, not yet, but close enough so that each small movement created a wonderful friction between them. He slid his hand up Gene’s broad back and down again, lightly tracing with his fingers, feeling the shudders he was creating.

 

Gene kissed harder, not pressing his hips forward yet but knowing he wasn’t far off being unable to control himself. They were only kissing, but it felt like no other kiss he could remember. Their lips moved faster, tongues began to rub together, Sam’s making neat circles around the tip of his own that made him wonder what that tongue would feel like on his neck, on his stomach, on his cock. His breathing roughened as this flashed through his mind, now rock hard in his shorts. He’d kept his hand firmly on the back of Tyler’s neck until now, but it began to run back down to his shoulder, now down his back, now resting at Sam’s waistband. His fingers, curled round the hollow of Sam’s back, nudged their way under the cotton, only slightly. At this sensation, Sam arched his back, pressing his flat stomach against Gene’s straining hard-on. Both men froze when their bodies touched, pausing even in their kissing to draw in dual breaths of shock.

 

Still not moving his lips, Sam pressed himself more firmly against Gene, his own stiff cock throbbing. Their kiss restarted, more passionate than before, and when Gene broke it off to place more hard kisses along Sam’s jaw, Sam couldn’t help but thrust himself forward again, and again, loving the way their bodies felt together. As Gene slid his hand into the back of his boxers and across his arse, Sam squirmed upwards so that their dicks rubbed together, through two thin layers of fabric. Gene gasped against his neck, then bit him in the sweet spot right on the corner of his jaw. The bite was hard enough to hurt wonderfully, and as another one was positioned between jaw and earlobe Sam let out a clenched grunt of lust. His own hand found Gene’s waist again, and slid under the waistband he found there. At first he only slid his hand in a taut circle round waist and thigh, giving Gene the chance to say no, but when he found a tongue probing his ear he lost any remaining sense of restraint and, for the first time in his life, wrapped his hand around another man’s prick. It was just as hard as his own; scalding hot, soft skin over what felt like granite. A second later and Gene’s hand was around him, too, and they began to move rhythmically together. He was panting now, overcome with desire and ignorant of any other thought but the feeling of the hand on his cock, the building sense of imminent satisfaction.

 

Gene wanted to slow down, to prolong this sweet agony, but at first couldn’t stop. He was rushing towards the finish line, thought they both might be, and for a moment he thought he had missed the point of no return. With a great effort, he slowed his hand, moved his head back around from where he’d been exploring the smooth skin on Sam’s neck. He felt Sam slow down too, until they had both stopped stroking, then he positioned his hand right at the top of Sam’s cock and slowly ran his thumb across the head. He continued to make slow, slippery circles with his thumb, feeling Sam’s breath against his face, then leaned in and kissed him again, thoroughly and slowly. Sam started to copy his actions, bringing Gene a renewed jolt of excitement. He ran his tongue into the corners of Sam’s lips, then back again to allow Sam’s tongue to roll around his own. It made him think again of what a great blowjob this man would probably give, and this was too much for him. He began to work his fist back up and down the length of Sam’s smooth, hot cock, and when Sam did the same for him he started to have trouble knowing whose hand was where. This was incredible, his whole body was ignited with heat and crashing blood.

 

Sam knew he couldn’t keep this up for long, the feeling of the Guv’s hand on his dick and the back of his own hand against it as he kept pace with him, stroking the other man closer and closer to the edge, was too much to bear. In a quick move he released Gene from his underwear, letting go only long enough to push the elastic on the shorts down and out of his way. Gene copied him and before he knew what was happening the man had his hand round both of them, rubbing their cocks together in quick strokes. The feeling was incredible, that hardness against his own, and he cried out into Gene’s mouth as he came, unable to stop, never wanting to stop. He thrust himself into Gene’s hand, feeling it slick with his own come, and moaned again as Gene bucked against him, a single low grunt the only sound he made as he, too, raced over the edge and into the freefall of a long, hard orgasm.

 

They stayed pressed together as they both throbbed with surges of pleasure. Gene had pushed his tongue deep into Sam’s mouth as he came, filling it as he filled his own palm, Sam narrowing his lips around it so that it felt like Gene was fucking his mouth with his tongue, the feeling at once shocking and scintillating. Now he slowly removed it, giving Sam’s own tongue one last flick as it withdrew, and they sealed their kiss and tilted their heads a little apart, breathing shallowly. After a long minute, Gene gently removed his hand from their softening dicks, and Sam hesitated only briefly before reaching his arm out and round Gene’s back, pulling him in closer. Gene wrapped his own free arm round Sam, and they held each other for a quiet moment, feeling elated, buzzed, drunk.

 

The moment passed and both men rolled onto their backs, out of the now stifling embrace. Sam drew long, steadying breaths, and before long felt himself slipping into a doze. _What a cliche_ , he thought to himself, not caring in the least. He heard Gene’s breath slow similarly and was glad to think they were both on their way to sleep. Neither of them expected anything of the other, there would be no arguments in the morning about falling asleep too soon afterwards. Just before he went completely under the wave, Sam opened his mouth.

‘Goodnight,’ he said, voice faint in his own ears.

Gene turned his head, still unseen, and answered.

‘Goodnight, Sam.’

 

 


	13. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Gene have very much passed the point of no return. How do they feel about it in the cold light of day?

When Gene woke up, he was momentarily confused about where he was. The grey light, filtered through heavy curtains, made it difficult to see the detail around him and he blinked, trying to make sense of it. Then the furniture became familiar; he was in the spare room. And there was someone here with him. He was lying on his side, facing away, and the events of last night came flooding back to him.

_Sam Tyler. Who would have thought it?_

He felt Sam shifting beside him, and rolled onto his back, turning his head towards the other man. Sam had opened his eyes, and was looking up at the ceiling.

‘Well, this is a turn up for the books,’ said Gene, not wanting them to get into an awkward spell of silence if he could help it. There had been enough of that. Sam looked over at him with an unsure smile.

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ he replied. Gene maintained his serious expression for a moment, but he was still feeling a certain post-coital glow and a small smile broke out on his face. Sam watched it grow, then answered it with a short laugh. He looked back up at the ceiling, still smiling.

‘I’m in bed with Gene Hunt,’ he said, seemingly to the light fitting, shaking his head slowly. Gene wasn’t too sure what to make of that. He shifted himself on to his side, propped up on his elbow.

‘And how does that feel?’ he asked, partly serious. Sam continued to keep his gaze fixed ahead, not answering at first.

‘Good.’ He turned his head now, to look at Gene. ‘It feels good.’ He gave another shy smile.

‘Good,’ replied Gene. ‘You want a brew?’

Sam blinked at this change of subject, then nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah, milk and two.’ Gene nodded and heaved himself up out of bed. Sam tried not to look, but his eyes were drawn downwards as Gene crossed the foot of the bed. He looked back up again quickly to meet a knowing expression.

‘Why don’t you take a photo, Tyler? It’ll last longer.’ Gene smirked at him, continuing on his way out of the room so that Sam was now treated to the view of his retreating arse, surprisingly firm for a man who considered walking to the car a form of exercise. Sam could have sworn there was a bit of extra swagger in that walk, a certain roll of the hips. He thought that might be for his benefit. Extraordinary.

 

Gene went in to the room next door; this one had all the hallmarks of a spare room, the other must be the master bedroom. Sam wasn’t surprised by this - the Guv hadn’t long split up with his missus, the bed that had been theirs for all these years probably still held a lot of emotional baggage. Not enough emotional baggage to stop Gene screwing another man in the next room, of course...

What a thought. His morning glory had receded as he woke up, but he felt it throb momentarily as he remembered the events of last night. It had been incredible; even if he wasn’t sure about anything else, that was a fact. In any other situation he’d probably have been embarrassed to have finished so quickly, but he hadn’t been on his own there. It appeared that they had both been in a state of high anticipation, to say the least. So he didn’t feel any shame over his own performance, such as it had been, and in fact didn’t feel any shame at all. At least, not yet. He knew it might come with time but for now he was flooded with endorphins, still feeling the afterglow, still amazed that it had happened at all.

He heard Gene walk past the door again, on his way downstairs, and wondered what today had to offer. In a situation like this with a woman, he’d usually expect them to spend the day half dressed, maybe getting naked another once or twice, and lots of giggling conversation and cuddling on the couch. He was finding it difficult to imagine much of the above happening here. All bets were off. He wondered what Gene would want - he might even want Sam to leave after he’d had his cuppa. He’d be disappointed if that happened, but he’d take it on the chin. He still felt a great urge to ‘be cool’ and not come across too keen. This was ridiculous, given that putting your hands inside someone’s pants was probably the epitome of being too keen, but that had been in the moment. You could excuse a lot of things, in the moment.

The smell of cigarette smoke drifted up the stairs. Sam had slept better last night than he had in months, maybe even since he’d woken up in 1973. Unlike last weekend he was afflicted with neither Fear nor hangover. He felt excellent. He smiled again to himself. The recuperative powers of sex should never, ever be underestimated. He thought he should probably get himself dressed, head downstairs for that tea. He stretched out luxuriously instead, enjoying the feeling of a proper mattress under his back, finding the cool parts of the duvet to tuck his feet under. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh of contentment, closing his eyes. Right now, life was good.

 

He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knew Gene was back in the room, clad only in boxer shorts, and bearing two mugs.

‘Look alive, Tyler,’ he barked, and Sam’s eyes started open. He pushed himself upright, moving the pillows around to support him.

‘Thanks Guv,’ he said, taking one of the mugs carefully. Gene waited until he was settled then put his own mug down on the bedside cabinet and climbed back into bed. He lifted his mug and took a noisy sip.

‘I wasn’t expecting breakfast in bed,’ said Sam. Gene snorted.

‘You probably weren’t expecting to get your hands on my family jewels, either.’

‘Well... I don’t know if I’d say I wasn’t expecting that...’ Gene looked at him, eyebrow raised challengingly.

‘What?’ he snapped.

‘Well, you did put your tongue in my mouth on Friday night,’ Gene opened his own mouth to answer, but Sam carried on ‘...and I’m pretty sure you’ve been flirting with me for weeks now...’

 

Gene’s eyes took on more fire. ‘Gene Hunt does not _flirt_. Especially not with nancy boys like you.’

‘Oh that’s rich, look where you are!’ Gene did just that, seeming too see the point of Sam’s argument, but retorted smartly.

‘I could be in bed with _ten_ other men and I’d still be the straightest bloke in Manchester.’

Sam shifted himself around a little.

‘Oh come on, Gene, you lost all right to call me a nancy when you brought me home and slept with me.’ Gene looked affronted, and Sam didn’t know whether to be offended or entertained by this conversation. He hadn’t expected Gene to be so up front about last night, had thought there would be a certain level of angst over what had happened. It just went to prove, it didn’t do to underestimate Gene Hunt. Sam took a sip of his tea, then set it aside to cool.

‘Look, you little prick, I...’

‘Oi, oi, oi!’ Sam interrupted. ‘Less of the little!’

This stopped Gene in his tracks. He had no idea what to say to that, an event which was extremely rare. Sam looked serious but Gene thought there was a glint in his eye, the one that cropped up when the man was winding him up. Well, if it was a wind up he wanted...

‘Sorry Tyler. Would you prefer the term petite?’

‘As in _la petite mort_?’ he shot back, realising as he did that Gene would absolutely not get this. He was right.

‘Now you’re speaking French. You’re not doing yourself any favours, here.’ Gene found himself enjoying the banter a little more than usual.

‘Listen, Guv, if I’m a nancy, you are too. That’s just a fact.’

‘It certainly is not. For one thing, you wouldn’t catch me speaking bloody French!’

‘Apart from just then, you mean? Face it Guv, your unhealthy obsession with male bonding has finally started to make sense.’

‘Oh we’re back to my obsession with male bonding, are we? Why not go the whole hog? I believe I’m over weight, over-the-hill and homophobic as well?’

Sam’s own words, repeated back to him, rang in his ears. He’d been overwrought when he’d said them, caught up in trying to save his dad, his family and maybe even himself. He’d never apologised for them, and had hoped that Gene had forgotten that particular diatribe. It seemed that he hadn’t. It wasn’t fair of him to throw it back in Sam’s face now, though, when they were indulging in some good natured bickering. Sam decided not to let Gene beat him with them.

‘And I believe I’m a holier-than-thou dickhead?’

‘You’re also a Man United supporting poof,’ replied Gene. Sam was put out that Gene seemed to have absolutely no regrets about insulting him.

‘I wasn’t too much of a poof to take to bed last night, though, was I?’

‘Tyler, that is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, and believe me, that’s saying something. You were exactly the right amount of poof to take to bed.’ This struck Sam as funny.

‘Exactly the right amount of poof? That’s a new one,’ he laughed. A grin broke slowly over Gene’s face.

‘Well you can’t take another straight bloke to bed, can you? You’d never get anything done.’ Sam had to admit he had a point. His laughter ran its course, and he lifted his mug from the cabinet. Gene followed suit, and they sat quietly for a moment. Sam was amazed at how matter of fact the Guv was being. It really showed how the man’s mind worked: if he had gone to bed with another man, then it was OK to go to bed with another man and still consider yourself straight. It was admirable, in a way, that level of self-confidence. Gene said,

‘About last night...’ Sam’s heart sank. He’d heard those words before - said them himself, more often - and he knew that it rarely meant good news for the hearer. Gene must have seen this and hurried on.

‘...just don’t expect me to treat you any different, that’s all. You’re still my DI. You’re still a pain in the arse. I won’t be bringing you flowers and calling you sweetheart.’

 

Sam was profoundly relieved. If Gene started bringing him flowers he would have no idea what to make of it. The essence of their relationship - the arguing, the fighting - was the whole reason he’d ended up here in the first place. If that changed, their feelings for each other would surely change, and he didn’t want that. As complicated and even dangerous as it was, this was also deeply exciting. And, if last night was anything to go by, there was a lot of fun still to be had, and it would never happen if that air of conflict between them disappeared.

‘Wouldn’t expect you to, Guv. Wouldn’t want you to,’ he answered, trying to convey how he felt in these few words. He thought he’d managed it, since Gene nodded before finishing off his tea.

‘As long as that’s clear. Don’t expect any privileges just because we’re... well, whatever we are.’

‘Partners?’ Sam suggested, that wicked glint back in his eye. That was a word full of connotations in 2006, though maybe less so in 1973.

‘Partners,’ answered Gene. If he knew the subtext to the word, he wasn’t letting on. ‘Right then, if that’s sorted, I’m off for a shower.’

Sam nodded. ‘Alright. Want me to nip out and get breakfast?’

‘Good idea. In fact, hang on...’ Gene heaved himself out of bed and headed off downstairs. Sam set about getting dressed, not sure what Gene was up to but sure it would become clear sooner rather than later. As he pulled on the last of his clothes, Gene reappeared.

‘Here,’ he said, tossing something at Sam. Sam caught it out of reflex, and opened his hand to see the keys of the Cortina. He looked up at Gene, stunned.

‘Get yourself back to your place, pick up a change of clothes. Grab some beers on the way back. Sunday should be a day of rest, after all.’

Sam couldn’t believe this. Gene, willingly giving him the keys to the Cortina? This was bigger than a bouquet of a dozen roses. The Guv obviously knew this, tried to explain his way out of it.

‘Well, you drive like a pensioner, I know she’ll be safe. Besides, I’m hungry, it’ll be quicker if you drive.’

‘And... you want me to stay again tonight?’ This was the other part that was giving Sam trouble.

‘Well, not if you don’t want to...’ Gene’s tone was a little huffy, and he looked away.

‘No! I mean, yeah, I do. I’ll get going,’ Sam tried to cover his eager tone with action, stood up and made his way past Gene to the bedroom door. ‘See you in a bit then.’

Gene nodded, letting him pass without speaking. As he was half way down the stairs, Sam heard the shout.

‘And mind the paintwork!’

 


	14. Sweet Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What might two manly, hetrosexual men do on a Sunday off? The clue really is in the name.

Gene listened to Sam shuffle into his boots then head out, closing the door behind him. He heard the familiar clunk of the Cortina’s door, imagined he could hear the springs creak as Sam got in. The engine started and Sam reversed out, then drove off. He felt a slight pang at letting someone else drive his car, it was not the normal way of things, but then nothing this weekend was normal at all, was it? He may as well admit it - he didn’t want to spend any longer apart from Sam than necessary. Who knew how long this temporary madness would last? May as well give in to it. Not that he’d admit half as much to anyone, not even Sam.

He took himself in to the shower, starting the water and waiting for it to run hot. When steam began to fill the room, he stripped off his boxers and stepped under the spray. The feeling was wonderful - he hated to go a day without a shower, though he’d managed to distract himself from the feeling yesterday quite admirably. He stood still and quiet under the water, letting it warm him and rinse his skin clean. He breathed deeply of the foggy air, feeling it open his sinuses and fill his chest. Eventually he reached for the soap and started his ablutions properly, wondering idly what Sam’s idea of breakfast might be. He’d seen the man eat yoghurt for breakfast before now - actual yoghurt. For breakfast. What kind of pansy-arsed way was that to start the day? If it wasn’t fried in an inch of oil, Gene didn’t want to know about it.

 

He finished his shower with no haste, enjoying the relaxing hot water, then stepped out and dried off. He headed in to the bedroom to get dressed - another pair of clean shorts, black trousers, green shirt. No tie. It was a Sunday, after all. The last time he’d had this shirt on was the night they’d gone undercover at the Trafford Arms - hell of a night. He’d been leathered, reeling drunk. Sam’s smug superiority had been insufferable in the days that followed. Not that Gene had let on he’d noticed. And he had to say that they’d got to the bottom of that case only because of their shift as bartenders. It was still about football though, that murder, something Sam had never admitted. Gene had never met anyone so stubborn. Well, with the exception of himself, he supposed...

He stopped in at the spare room to open the blinds - curtains shut during the day was something his old mum could never abide - and scoop up the scattered clothes that were left. He sloped downstairs now, not bothering with socks or to tuck his shirt in. He headed into the kitchen to add his pile of clothes to the laundry basket and grab himself a can, came back through, flicked the TV on and dropped to the couch. He let the pictures and noises flow round him, not really paying attention to what was on. He sipped some of his beer, reached to the table for an abandoned packet of cigarettes and lit one up. He relaxed back again, feeling content. Sunday morning, and all was well. He had something to drink and something to smoke, and breakfast wouldn’t be long in arriving. And bringing the breakfast was a rather nice piece of arse by the name of Tyler. He felt heat rise to his face as he thought this, and a slightly rueful smile crossed his face. In the heat of the moment, he wasn’t concerned about his new feelings for Sam, but thinking of them when he was on his own, in the cold light of day, was a different matter. He could see how absurd this all was, could see clearly what a mess it could end up and that he should call a halt to it now. Absurd or not, he still didn’t want to call it off. Wouldn’t call it off. They were both adults, they could manage to have this... this... fling, or whatever it was, without swooning over each other like a pair of girls. Nothing else had to change. During the day they’d be the same two men as ever. At night - well, under cover of the night they could do what they wanted. Exactly what they wanted.

 

He felt a flutter of excitement at that thought and tried to quell it with another sip of beer. He gave a shiver, fleeting images of what ‘exactly what we want’ might mean flickering through his mind unbidden. He really hadn’t felt like this in years. Hadn’t even realised what he was missing. The thrill of these new, formerly forbidden feelings ran deeper than he could have imagined. It was better than being drunk, it was unpredictable and sexy. Yes, sexy; he felt sexy. He realised it had been a long time since that happened.

 

As he sat and thought, he heard the Cortina returning to the driveway, then footsteps outside and Sam, let himself in. He sauntered through to the living room, chewing gum and laden with several bags.

‘Blood hell Tyler, what kind of breakfast are you planning?’

‘Stopped off and got something for later. Thought I might cook,’ said Sam, trying to look casual, as if it was no big deal. Gene hadn’t had a home cooked Sunday dinner in weeks, and the thought of it set his stomach rumbling. He was touched, too - Tyler wanted to cook for him, to see him right. You didn’t get that with some random bird you picked up in a pub.

‘Oh yeah?’ he asked, trying to keep his tone light. ‘What’s on the menu then Keith Floyd?’

‘Chicken dinner?’ said Sam, obviously hoping this would meet with approval.

‘The full works?’ asked Gene. This brought a grin to Sam’s face.

‘The works, Guv. Chicken, roast spuds, Yorkshires, the lot.’

‘Spot on Sam. Go on, get that lot in the kitchen and grab a beer.’ Sam did as he was told, coming back with two paper bags as well as his can.

‘Here,’ he said, handing one over. ‘Roll and fried egg, a nutritious start to anyone’s day.’ Gene took it with a nod of approval, and got tucked in.

‘Nice one,’ he said, mouth full. ‘Nice one.’

 

Several hours later, the two of them sat, stuffed full and tipsy.

‘Didn’t know you were such a professional, Tyler,’ said Gene. Sam wiped his mouth, smiling a little. Dinner had been exceptionally good, Yorkshire puddings and all, and Sam had brought in enough beers to see them through a lazy, boozy afternoon.

‘I just like to cook,’ he replied, modestly.

‘Lucky for me,’ Gene replied. ‘Here, give us your plate.’ Sam slid it across the table, lifting his cutlery so Gene could stack it under his own. He carried them through to the kitchen, went over to the sink and started running the water to fill the basin. He noted the tidy way Sam had worked as he cooked; everything was stacked neatly by the sink, ready to be washed up. _Well trained,_ thought Gene, again. He rolled up his sleeves and added some washing up liquid to the sink, stirring it through the running water to make bubbles. He slid the plates and cutlery in, started to wipe them clean even as the water ran. He was savouring the feeling of being full and thinking what an excellent Sunday this had turned out to be as he worked. He and Sam had spent the day exchanging conversation, TV on in the background, enjoying each others’ company. They had laughed fit to burst more than once, and he had no idea why other than the fact that they were both drunk on each other as much as the beers they’d necked. There had been accidental-on-purpose body contact here and there. Nothing much, nothing that might have seemed unusual to a casual observer, but Gene felt alive every time Sam’s hand touched his arm, or their legs brushed as they sat on the couch. As he thought this, he felt movement at his back. At first he thought it was only his imagination, then he realised that Sam had walked quietly in behind him.

 

Before he could turn his head, Sam’s hands were on his waist and soft lips were on his neck. He felt Sam stretch on to his tiptoes to reach over the top of his collar. The feeling stunned him into stillness. He hadn’t expected this to happen before they got to bed. He stood motionless, hands in the basin in front of him, as he felt slow kisses cross his neck and move into his hairline. Sam rubbed his face against the soft hair at the back of his neck, moving round to continue kissing the other side. Gene felt that stirring between his legs again, tilted his head to allow Sam better access. Sam reacted by sliding his hands down to Gene’s hips, gently pulling himself closer in to the broad back, and kissing his way across Gene’s neck again. Gene remained absolutely still, but his breathing had grown heavier. Hearing this, Sam pushed harder now so that their bodies were flat against each other, and Gene felt something he’d never expected to experience, let alone like; another man’s hard cock against his arse. Even through several layers of material it was insistent, pressing and rubbing against him.

 

Sam slid one hand round to the front of Gene’s trousers, where an answering bulge waited. He traced his fingers across the length of it, maddeningly gentle. Gene made a small noise, trying to keep it in his throat. Sam had stopped kissing him now, instead just breathing on the back of his neck in hot gusts as he ran his hand back and forth, until Gene had had enough and turned to face him. Sam looked as though he couldn’t quite believe his own actions, but the hard shine in his eyes told another story. Gene leaned in and kissed him, hard, bringing his own wet hands to the back of Sam’s head to pull him closer. Their tongues rolled against each other, and they both drew their hips in, enjoying the way this felt, rules forgotten. Sam gave Gene’s tongue one last stroke with his own before drawing back and turning for the door. His tight arse led Gene across the living room and up the stairs, jeans straining against it, moulding it perfectly. When they got to the spare room Sam went in first, turned back as he reached the foot of the bed. Gene was only a step behind him, and didn’t slow down as he came in, instead forcing himself on to Tyler and pushing them both back onto the bed. He felt Sam try to push him off, by reflex, and in a sweeping motion he grabbed both of Sam’s wrists and shoved them upwards, over their heads. Sam continued to struggle, but also to kiss back with eager lips and fast breath.

 

Gene pinned Sam with his weight, transferred both the slim wrists into one hand and leaned on them as he ran the other down Sam’s arm, down his side, ending on his hip. He rolled his own hips against the restrained man’s, feeling with a rush of pleasure the eager way that they bucked upwards even as Sam continued to turn his wrists, trying to escape. He brought his free hand back round to start unbuttoning Sam’s shirt, feeling how hot the smooth skin was underneath. When he reached Sam’s belt, he roughly tugged the shirt out to finish unbuttoning, then ran his hand from stomach to chest, savouring the feeling of it, aware of Sam’s continued struggles and a slight moan passing from his mouth. He took his hand round to Tyler’s side, brushing a hard nipple on the way, and back down across his ribs to his waist. Still holding Sam captive with his bulk, he pushed himself up with the hand containing Sam’s wrists, and started to unbutton his own shirt. He looked Sam dead in the eye as he did, noting with glee the mixed anger and desire he found there. Sam lay still for a moment as Gene undid his shirt, but when all the buttons were open he surprised the Guv with a sudden twist of his hands and a great tug downwards. Gene nearly lost his balance, and Sam took advantage of this to turn his body, tipping Gene off to the side. In a flash he was on top of him, straddling him at the waist, tearing off his own shirt. Then he descended, shoving Gene’s shirt open and restricting his arms as he kissed him passionately. Gene kissed back, loving the mix of aggression and lust in the air. He’d never been like this with a woman. He was a big bloke, didn’t want to hurt anyone, even if they said they liked it kinky. He’d been taught that women were fragile, to be protected. Tyler, on the other hand, could give as good as he got. Gene didn’t have to hold back. This thought was a huge turn on, and he ran his tongue deep into Sam’s mouth, loving the way it closed around him.

 

As he withdrew his tongue, he used the considerable strength in his arms to knock Sam’s hands off his shirt, freeing himself. Sam toppled forward, their chests pressing together now, and Gene brought his mouth to Tyler’s neck, biting it just hard enough. Sam tried to sit up again but Gene caught him round the shoulders and held him where he was, face buried in the fold of his collar. Sam got his hands up under him and flat onto the bed, then pushed his knees up enough to make a space between them. Instead of forcing himself off of Gene, though, he reached for his belt buckle and swiftly opened it, then his trousers. Feeling this, Gene let him go, and he sprang onto his feet, letting his jeans and, with a moment’s hesitation, boxers fall to the ground. Gene sat up, removing his own shirt and taking in Sam’s naked body. He made to stand up and was pushed back to the bed, Sam taking him by surprise with a hard shove. He fell backwards and felt Sam’s eager hands at his trousers, opening them, tugging them down. He arched his back to lift his hips off the bed, and felt both remaining articles of clothing stripped away. He didn’t dare look up.

Sam crouched by the bed, where he’d ended up after removing Gene’s clothes, his head level with Gene’s throbbing cock. Gene knew he was there, but felt suddenly weak, unable to move, not knowing what was about to happen. He knew what he wanted, that would obvious to anyone, but did he want it from Sam? Now? As he felt hot breath against his balls that question seemed ridiculous. Of course he did. No sooner had he thought so than Sam’s tongue began to trace its way delicately around, making him shiver. The man’s hands were on his thighs, pressing them apart, as he made delicate circles with the tip of his tongue, causing the skin there to tighten up and his dick to stiffen even further. He felt one hand slide off his leg, and after a moment felt Sam’s shoulder begin to move in a slow rhythm; Sam was stroking his own cock as he licked Gene’s balls, tongue edging closer to the base of Gene’s dick. God, this was making him randy. He simultaneously never wanted it to stop and craved Sam’s mouth elsewhere, somewhere more immediate.

He got his second wish. Sam’s tongue ran wetly over the root of his cock, making him sigh and close his eyes. It returned, now running the entire length of it, and making a tight circle round the head. It felt exactly as Gene had imagined it would, when he’d felt Sam’s tongue in his mouth before. Sam did it again, repeating exactly the same slow movement, and Gene groaned this time, muting the sound by clenching his teeth. Then he withdrew, and Gene snapped his eyes open. _Oh please_ , he thought. _Please don’t stop._

Sam climbed on to the bed, and Gene moved himself so that he now lay at his full length, with his head on the pillows. He didn’t dare to look into Sam’s eyes, not knowing what he’d see. Instead he looked at Sam’s body, eyes travelling down to the erect cock that Sam was still stroking slowly. He let himself look, amazed by how much the sight of it turned him on. Sam sped up a little, maybe turned on himself by the audience, then positioned himself between Gene’s legs. He reached out and took Gene in his other hand, rubbing them both to the same, slow rhythm. Gene let his eyes close again, feeling the cold air on his skin and the warm hand working its magic. Then he felt Sam lean forward again and, without stopping with his hand, take the head of Gene’s prick into his mouth. He worked his lips and tongue around it, sucking it, still building up the pressure with his hand. Gene thought he was still touching himself, too, and this was more exciting than ever. The next thing he felt was intense heat as Sam took more of him into his mouth, rubbing the underside with that clever tongue, moving his hand to squeeze Gene’s balls into a delirious, delicious ache. _Jesus Christ_.

 

Gene felt unable to do anything but lie there, feeling Sam suck and lick his cock as though he’d done it hundreds of times before, feeling the excitement grow. His hands clenched the sheets under him, tugging them, releasing them again as he pushed his hips upwards, acting only on instinct. He felt Sam pull away suddenly and froze, guiltily. Sam only stopped for a moment, though, then went back to teasing him with the tip of his tongue. Gene decided that enough was enough, and reached down, lifting Sam’s head away with his hand. Sam looked at him then, eyes naked and questioning. Gene shifted his legs to one side, and Sam knelt up, looking partly hurt and partly worried, as though wondering if he hadn’t been good enough. Nothing could be further from the truth; it was too good, and Gene couldn’t let it go on much longer without losing himself in the feeling. He didn’t want that. He wanted them to feel the same things, come together in the end. He moved to a kneeling position himself, leaning in to kiss Sam’s wet lips. He tasted the salt on them, then lowered himself onto his side. At first Sam didn’t seem to know what he wanted, but after a second he realised and moved himself into position. Gene was now faced with another man’s erection, and for a moment felt a wave of doubt. When Sam’s mouth landed on him again, though, it was dispelled, and he reached out a hand to stroke the other man as he ran out his tongue and, only a little tentatively, ran it over the tip of Sam’s cock. The taste of it wasn’t what he’d expected; it was salty, not strong, not bitter. He took the head of it in his mouth, now, still working with his hand, and sucked gently. Sam did the same to him, making him groan around the dick in his mouth. Sam groaned back, letting him feel the vibrations it caused, and this tipped Gene into a state of strong, overwhelming lust.

 

He took more of Sam into his mouth, running almost the full length of him between his lips and back out again, amazed by how much this turned him on. It was the thrill of the forbidden, he knew, but he didn’t care about the why. He continued to suck on Sam’s hard dick, using his hand to jerk it into his mouth, feeling the same happen to his own and coming increasingly close to climax. He thought Sam was feeling the same, his cock had lost some of that rigid feel and was pulsing in his mouth and hand. He took his mouth away to pant ‘I’m gonna come,’ wanting Tyler to have the chance to stop before it was too late, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t. It seemed that Sam was as caught up in the moment as Gene was, because this made him groan and push his mouth even further. The combined vibration and the feeling of his cock touching Tyler’s throat sent a cry from Gene’s mouth, before he returned it to its former place, lips tight around Sam’s shaft, tongue working furiously against and around it. He began to move faster with both hand and mouth, as he thrust himself into the hot embrace below. The feeling of his full mouth, Sam’s twitching cock, the humming of Sam groaning as he started to thrust in and out of Gene’s hand and lips, all combined to send him into the dark space of a hard orgasm. He moaned loudly and suddenly he felt Sam’s dick spasm, felt hot liquid spurt up against the roof of his mouth. He squeezed Sam in his hand as his own dick was rubbed and sucked until he was dizzy with the power of the release. Sam stopped coming a moment after he had, and he rolled his tongue around, bathing Tyler’s prick before finally deciding to swallow. Sam did the same for him, then both of them rolled onto their backs, panting.

 

Gene ran his tongue round his own mouth, experimentally. He thought he knew why women complained about doing this - it wasn’t exactly a single malt. It wasn’t supposed to be, though, and for the intense pleasure he’d given - and been given in return - he thought it might be an even exchange. He swallowed again, wishing he’d brought a drink upstairs with him and wondering if there was a hipflask lying around in here somewhere. He’d have to wait a few minutes to get up and check; right now he needed to rest. It had been a busy ten minutes.

 

When they had recovered themselves, Sam and Gene had edged their way off the bed and into their respective clothes, with a certain amount of awkwardness and a certain lack of eye contact. Neither of them spoke, but when he finished buttoning up Gene glanced up at Sam. The man looked so unsure of himself, standing there in boxers and shirt, that Gene acted on instinct and reached out a hand to him. He touched his arm, and Sam started. Gene closed his hand round the narrow shoulder and squeezed. Sam’s eyes looked at him nakedly again, showing confusion and hope in equal measures. Gene didn’t know what exactly that hope was for, but guessed it might be some reassurance that everything was OK, that he hadn’t gone too far or too fast. He gave him a brief, one-sided smile.

‘You’re full of surprises, you are,’ he said. Sam smiled hesitantly back.

‘Me? I think we both are...’ he offered, his voice sounding a little shaken.

Gene nodded.

‘You alright?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Yeah - a bit weird. Never thought I’d find myself doing that.’ It was Gene’s turn to feel worried - had he pressured Sam into it? He didn’t think so but the unfamiliar doubt was there nonetheless.

‘Did you... I mean... Did you want to?’ he asked, his turn to look for reassurance. Sam’s face was still for a considering moment, then broke into a grin.

‘Yeah, I did,’ he answered. ‘Did you... well... was it alright?’

‘Alright? That, Sammy-boy, was the best blow job I’ve ever had in my life.’

They both laughed, and Gene stepped away to let Sam finish dressing.

‘I’ll get back down. Got a terrible thirst on me,’ he said, smirking slightly. Sam snorted another laugh and nodded.

‘Be right there,’ he said, turning back to his shirt buttons.

 

Gene turned and headed back to the living room, which looked exactly as they’d left it, in defiance of the earth-shattering events that had just taken place in the bedroom. Gene saw his half-finished can on the table and dropped himself onto the sofa to finish it off. He found a cigarette to go with it, and lit up. He sat quietly, thinking things over. What he and Sam had just done was different to any encounter he’d had in the past; the initial roughness and the frantic stripping off were almost as unexpected as the act itself. He licked his lips, thinking of how it had felt to wrap them round Sam’s dick. Something he’d have found repulsive only a few short weeks ago, and yet there he’d been, not only doing it but enjoying it. It was hard to believe.

He heard Sam come downstairs and shuffle round to the sofa. He sat down next to Gene, close to reach out and touch with very little effort, but not touching. Gene decided to put an end to that nonsense, given what they’d just been up to, and lifted his arm to drape it over the back of the couch behind Sam’s head. Without looking over, Sam shuffled in to the half-embrace. Gene took a draw of his cigarette, tilting his head to blow the smoke in a dart straight up, and wrapped his arm round Sam, holding him lightly. He handed over his beer wordlessly, and Sam took a long, grateful sip before handing it back. This might be wrong, but damn it, it felt alright.

 

They sat like this on the couch, occasionally standing to get fresh cans but always returning to the same spot. There was a film on TV, and they half watched it, each more lost in his own thoughts than in the plot. Gene absently stroked Sam’s shoulder with his thumb, and Sam thought it felt wonderful. He did feel a bit confused by his own desires, shocked by his eagerness earlier, but as long as Gene wasn’t going to reject him, start a fight with him for being a bender, he thought he could figure the rest out in his own time. For now he’d accept it as best he could, enjoy being close and comfortable with someone again. Someone special. He’d better not say that out loud - sucking his dick was one thing, but talking like a fairy would be a step too far for Gene Hunt, he was sure of it. He smiled to himself, sipped his can, relaxed into the couch and the reassuring hug.

 

That night they slept wrapped up in each other, Sam’s head in the hollow of Gene’s shoulder. Sam had rarely felt so connected with anyone. They hadn’t spoken much for the rest of the night, but Sam thought it was because they hadn’t needed to. He had been so lonely, he hadn’t realised fully how lonely until he had something to compare it to. Falling asleep with someone else, warm and safe, was wonderful.

 


	15. Running Gun Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday brings round another, normal day in CID. If by normal you mean car chases, hostages and sexual tension.

They arrived at the office together on Monday, which wasn’t unusual enough to turn any heads. Sam felt that the truth of this weekend must be blazing out from them, for everyone to see, but things were just the same as any other Monday morning. CID was sparsely populated with the officers diligent enough to arrive in on time. Chris and Ray made their way in, one just after the other, yawning and slumping into their chairs. There was no chat for a while, as everyone woke up, drinking coffee and smoking fags. Gene had disappeared into his office for a shave, as was his habit, and Sam found himself leafing through the charge sheets from the weekend. It had been quiet, just the usual Saturday night drunks that were let out again on Sunday, shame faced. When Gene came back out of his office, clean shaven and adjusting his loose tie, Sam couldn’t help but look up at him, appraisingly. He was a handsome man, really. Sam was surprised he’d never noticed it before. Gene caught his eye only momentarily, but Sam was sure he saw warmth in that look that hadn’t been there before Friday. Gene parked himself in one of the chairs, lit a cigarette and swung his feet up onto the desk.

 

‘So?’ he said, out of nowhere. Everyone looked at him - he only had eyes for Chris. Chris blinked at him, nonplussed.

‘What, Guv?’

‘So what happened on Friday, you brain donor?’

Chris’ eyes lit up.

‘Oh! Eh... yeah! It was great!’ He seemed transported by the memory, smiling. Sam looked at Ray, who was much less upbeat.

‘What did you get? Upstairs inside?’

‘She’s a lovely bird, Guv. It wasn’t like that.’ Gene looked disappointed, and Chris’ grin took on an extra edge.

‘All right - upstairs inside, but don’t tell her I told you.’ As if Gene knew the lady in question and was ready to go round her house to get Chris into trouble. Mind you, you never knew when the Guv might take it into his head to get you into trouble, so maybe it wasn’t such a daft thing to say.

‘You seeing her again, then?’ asked Sam, joining in for the first time.

‘Yeah Boss, Friday night.’ Chris looked so pleased with himself, Sam was really glad for him. He looked over at Ray again, who was pretending to study something on his desk. Gene had noticed, too, and wasn’t as willing as Sam to let it lie.

‘Well then Raymondo, what’s your story?’ he asked, trying to look innocent. Ray took a draw of his cigarette before answering.

‘Wasn’t that interested in her, Guv. Just went along to help Chris out, you know.’ Sam thought he could read between the lines here, and smiled inwardly. It was good for Ray to get knocked down a peg or two, and it sounded like this woman had done just that. He wondered if Gene would insist on the truth, but before he could find out, Chris threw them a curve ball.

  

‘You have a good weekend, Boss?’ he asked. Sam felt a surge of paranoia that he stamped down before it could show in his face. Of course nobody knew about his weekend, that was impossible. Still, he wasn’t really sure what to say, with Gene sitting so nearby, listening in.

‘Yeah thanks Chris. A quiet one.’ He tried to sound normal. Chris nodded, and it seemed like it had worked, until Gene tried to sabotage his efforts.

‘Nothing to report then, Tyler? You didn’t go on a bender?’ The Guv’s eyes sparkled, though his face was blank. Sam kept his own face as straight as he could as he answered.

‘Nah Guv. No blow outs for me.’ They looked at each other, faces studiedly casual with laughter just under the surface. Chris seemed to sense nothing wrong, and carried on the conversation.

‘What about you,Guv? You and the missus visit the in-laws, did you?’ 

Sam’s chest tightened at the mention of Gene’s wife. He’d successfully forgotten about her, forgotten that Gene was a married, if separated, man. He’d also forgotten that their new romance, for want of a better word, wasn’t the only secret they were keeping from the rest of the station. He felt a flare of guilt and unease. Gene’s voice was quite steady as he answered.

‘No - well, she did. You know how it is, a woman sometimes wants a bit of time with her family.’ This was close to being the truth, but of course Chris thought nothing of it. Sam thought he saw Ray’s brow crease briefly, but he didn’t speak. Sam felt as though they’d come near to a cliff edge, and been drawn back at the last minute. He’d managed to cocoon himself in only the good feelings from the weekend, and ignore the potential problems and complications. If you could get past the complication of them both being straight men, everything else seemed to pale. Of course, this was just a convenient way to think about it; there were other people who could be affected by the new relationship between the DCI and DI of A division, either while it carried on or in the event that it went wrong and there was tension between them. Shit. This was a horrible idea, a huge screw up waiting to happen. They’d be better off never mentioning it again, writing it off as a lost weekend that, in time, might seem like it had happened to someone else.

Even as he thought this, he knew it was hopeless. This would run its course, whatever that might be, and Sam didn’t want to stop it. Not when he’d just had the best weekend, the best sex and the best sleep he could remember having in such a long time. He was powerfully attracted to Gene, had been all along, and he couldn’t honestly imagine turning his back on him now. Of course, that wouldn’t stop him trying to get home. Of course not. It would just be, you know, a welcome distraction in the meantime. He wondered what Gene was thinking.

 

Gene was thinking back to the moment he’d woken up this morning, with Sam’s arm draped over him. Before Sam had come out of his sleep, Gene had turned his face in towards that head of tousled brown hair and drawn a deep breath. The smell of Sam, his shampoo, the lingering smoke from Gene’s own cigarettes, the undertones of sweat all combined to make something richer than the sum of its parts. He’d heard Sam talking about pheremones before now, and he thought he might finally understand what he’d been on about. He’d taken another slow breath, closing his eyes and fully appreciating this quiet moment, knowing that if Sam woke up now and caught him, he’d deny what he was doing. Anyway, it was time for work. The city wouldn’t police itself, and he couldn’t leave that shower of halfwits to run the show for themselves. Besides that, if he spent any longer on his own with Sam he might turn into a complete poofter; if two days had been enough to send him smelling hair and cuddling, who knew what might be next? He removed his arm from round Sam’s shoulders and tried to gently ease himself out from their embrace.

Sam had woken up at the movement, blearily looking up at Gene, reaching up to rub his eyes.

‘Time is it?’ he’d asked, voice thick with sleep.

‘Time to get up, Sunshine,’ Gene had answered, giving away none of the tender feelings he’d been having. ‘Up and at ‘em.’ Sam had moved to let Gene remove his arm, and he got up out of bed with a feeling of regret. When he’d come back from the shower he’d found Sam sitting up, reading a Reader’s Digest he must have found in a drawer. He looked up at him. Gene tilted his head toward the bathroom.

‘There’s towels on the side,’ he said shortly, and Sam nodded then swung himself lithely out of bed. Gene couldn’t help but watch that perfectly formed arse on its way out the door, and stood for a moment after it was out of sight, lost in his own thoughts. Slowly, he’d got himself dressed, towelled off his hair, made his way downstairs to catch a bit of breakfast news and his first nicotine fix as he waited for Sam to be ready. Before long, Sam had come downstairs too, and they were both ready to start the week.

 

‘Another day of crime fighting awaits, eh Guv?’ said Sam, and Gene had given a huff of laughter.

‘Another day indeed Sam. Gotta keep the streets clean.’ He’d heaved himself off the couch and towards the door, finding his shoes under a chair on the way. Sam struggled into his boots, then slid his leather jacket on over the fresh shirt he’d brought from home. Gene donned his own coat, then they stood looking at each other at the door. Sam broke out in one of those patented Tyler grins, almost perfectly triangular, and Gene smiled back. He’d reached out and clapped Sam on the arm.

‘Come on, partner. Let’s go to work.’

Sam had laughed at that as they left the house. 'You've been watching too many films, Guv.'

 

His reverie was broken as he realised Phyllis was in the room, speaking in a tone that suggested she might have been talking for quite some time. He raised his eyebrows at her. 

‘Lord, if you weren’t the Guv I swear I’d rattle your earhole... I said, we’ve got a shout. Robbery at the Post Office down Brown Street. Do you fancy it, or d’you want to wait for the next one?’ Gene got to his feet fast, reaching for his coat.

‘Tyler, you’re with me. You two, try and head them off at Charlotte Street. We’ll come at it straight down Brown Street. Phyllis, get all cars on it, get them blocking all exits. NOW!’ Phyllis bustled off, clearly not appreciating the Guv’s tone, and Sam, Chris and Ray bolted after Gene as he took long strides out to the car. The rest of the division scrambled after them, ready to join the chase.

  

Once in the car, Gene bombed it along, as usual, and Sam held on grimly. It was a ten minute drive for anyone else but the Guv nailed it in six, screeching to a halt in front of the Post Office and barrelling out to accost the first person to cross his path. The unfortunate staff were lined up outside, open-mouthed and shaken.

‘Where did they go?’ bellowed Gene, getting up close and personal with one of the women, who must have been seventy if she was a day. She stared at him for a moment before bursting in to sobs. The woman next to her put an arm round her, and glared at Gene.

‘They went off that way,’ she said, gesturing further along the main road and scowling. ‘We’ve all had a shock, here, there’s no call for you to go about shouting at us.’ Gene was already walking away, and ignored her. Sam had stepped out of the car without closing the door, and gave the woman a conciliatory look as he asked, ‘What kind of car was it?’. Despite himself, his eyes drifted to the only man in the group, who shrugged helplessly.

The angry woman replied. ‘Green Capri,’ she said, still scowling, undoubtedly further annoyed by this blatant sexism. Sam nodded his thanks then hopped back in the car as the Guv slid into the driver’s seat. They had taken off again before he had the door fully shut, and Gene had grabbed the radio.

‘Alpha One, this is eight seven zero. Suspects last seen heading east on Charlotte Street. In pursuit. Where’s Ray and Chris?’

Phyllis’ voice crackled back to him. ‘Heading north up Portland Street. Over.’

Gene thought for a second, then said ‘Tell them to carry on, and get all units eyeballing a green Ford Capri.’

‘Roger that Guv.’ Phyllis’ tone was crisp, business-like. Sam looked out through the windshield, straining for a glimpse of the car they were after. He saw nothing. They roared along the street, dodging the other traffic, the Guv swearing roundly at anyone who got in his way. As they approached the broader Portland Street, he got back on the radio.

‘Alpha One, come in,’ he snarled, swerving round slower moving traffic one-handed.

‘Alpha One receiving,’ answered Phyllis, sounding tense.

‘Get Chris and Ray off onto Piccadilly. We’re heading to London Road. Anything coming in?’ he asked, meaning to find out if anyone had spotted the getaway car.

‘Roger that. No sightings Guv.’

 

Gene dragged the Cortina down a narrower street again, off the main run.

‘Where are we headed Guv?’ asked Sam.

‘Got a feeling they’re heading for the industrial estate. Gonna cut them off,’ he replied, tersely. He skidded round another corner and floored it again. ‘Get Phyllis to send all units down Fairfield Street and Mancunian Way. We’ll box them in.’ His face was grim, both hands clenched on the wheel. Sam radioed the instructions in, using a clear, calm tone. Phyllis acknowledged and then he saw it, the green Capri, half a dozen cars ahead of them on London Road.

‘There!’ he said, but Gene had already spotted them and sped up even further, roaring insults at their fellow drivers. Sam lost them in a sudden knot of traffic, but as the turn off for the group of industrial estates came up he thought he saw it peeling off and screeching away to the North. The Guv’s instincts were frighteningly accurate, sometimes. They followed them off the main road and soon found themselves in among the factory buildings, but with no sign of their prey. Gene slowed down as they drove through, looking for a glimpse of them. Sam saw an open door up ahead, and pointed.

‘There. The door’s still swinging.’

Gene parked up outside, just past the door, and leaped out, reaching for his gun. Sam followed, this time not going by the book and contacting Phyllis. He was too caught up in the moment. He left his own weapon at his waist; running with a loaded gun was worse than running with scissors in his book. Gene’s camelhair coat flew behind him as he ran to the door of the building and thumped into the wall next to it, back first and gun held up in both hands. Sam joined him, unholstering his weapon, and they made a silent count to three. Gene ducked low, stepping inside and to the right, as Sam covered him from round the edge of the entrance. They were just in time to see the last man running up a set of stairs at the back of the empty warehouse, and they both took off after him. Sam cringed against the bullets he was expecting at any second, but none came. They reached the stairs, Sam slightly ahead, and he charged up them. As he went through the doorway, he found himself grabbed and yanked into an unfriendly embrace. Metal pressed against his temple. His gun clattered out of his hand and onto the ground.

 

Gene was right behind him, and stopped in the doorway, levelling his own gun at the masked assailant.

‘Drop it,’ he said, voice even and commanding despite the furious chase.

‘Don’t think so, copper,’ came the reply, the voice muffled by the balaclava the robber was wearing. ‘Think me and my mates are going to walk out of here, with your friend escorting us, nice and friendly-like.’

Gene took the safety off his gun. ‘You let him go. Do it NOW!’

There was an oily snigger from under the mask, and Sam felt the grip round his neck tighten.

‘Not a chance. Why don’t you step in here? Gently does it...’ Sam knew the other blaggers must be behind them, but all he could see was Gene, standing with his gun pointed almost directly at him. He looked at him helplessly, cursing himself for running head first into this situation. Gene looked him in the eye as he stepped forwards a few paces, not unblocking the door just yet but getting a bit nearer. If the Guv was trying to communicate something with him, he had no idea what it was. Sam heard the safety go off on the gun pressed to his head, and swallowed hard.

‘Listen Sunshine, this place is surrounded. You let him go and maybe we won’t charge you with assaulting a police office,’ said Gene. ‘You’re in enough trouble as it is.’ The gun at Sam’s head pressed harder, making him close his eyes briefly in a wince. Gene stopped moving.

‘Step aside,’ said Sam’s captor. ‘Now. Or this ponce gets it.’ Sam saw a flare of anger in Gene’s eyes, and he spun suddenly to the side and fired. Sam heard a scream from behind him, and felt the gun at his head waver away, distracted. He took his opportunity and threw his whole weight backwards, toppling both himself and the hostage taker to the ground. The blagger’s gun went off as they fell, and Sam hammered his fist backwards into the outstretched wrist, partly dislodging the weapon. He flipped himself over and batted the gun completely out of the other man’s hand, sending it skidding across the concrete, before punching him as hard as he could in the face. This earned him a grunt, and what felt like a broken fist, but he didn’t let that stop him from grabbing the man’s shoulders and bodily flipping him over onto his front. Later, he’d be amazed as always by the strength adrenaline provided, but for now he only wanted to get this situation under control. He heard a shower of running steps behind him as he folded the crook’s arms up to his shoulder blades, causing another loud cry of pain, and knelt on them to hold him down. Only now did he look up to see what was going on in the rest of the room.

 

Gene had been joined by Chris and Ray, and now several plods were running through the door to add to the melee. Gene was kicking lumps out of one blagger, who lay curled up on the floor, bleeding. Ray had punched a second in the gut, hard enough to double him over, and was in the process of cuffing him as he stooped, winded. Chris had the last of the team cuffed already, hands behind his back and head hanging, blood oozing from a wound in his shoulder. Sam shouted one of the constables over to help him, and the PC cuffed the man on the ground. Leaving them behind, Sam jogged over to Gene and tried to stop him.

‘Hey,’ he said, grabbing the bigger man’s shoulder. ‘That’s enough. It’s over.’ Gene turned on him, the fire still blazing in his eyes. Sam stepped back from the heat of that look. Gene turned away again, motioning to two plods who hadn’t already stepped in to take custody of the gang.

‘You two. Take this one an’ all. Get him out of my sight.’

He walked out then, taking stiff strides, not looking back at Sam or anyone else. Chris had wandered over.

‘You alright, Boss?’ he asked. Sam continued to look through the doorway where Gene had disappeared.

‘Fine Chris.’ He dragged his eyes away, to look at the young man who’d helped save him. ‘Fine, mate. Thanks.’ He extended his gaze to Ray, who stood a short distance away. ‘Thanks,’ he said again. Ray grunted at him, and Chris patted his arm.

‘No worries, Boss.’

Sam gave a half smile. ‘See you back at the station, yeah?’ With that, he headed off at slightly higher speed than was seemly. Gene was nowhere to be seen in the building, and Sam found him outside, leaning on the Cortina and smoking. He approached warily.

 

‘Thanks Guv,’ he said, shortly, standing in front of him. Gene stayed silent, looking at him in a way that was hard to read. Sam felt uncomfortable, not sure what was going on. Eventually, after long moments of stillness as the constables huckled the blaggers out of the building and into a van, Gene dropped and stubbed out his cigarette. Sam, who had been studying the ground, looked up at his face again. There was a stubborn pout in place, the eyes hard.

‘Come on,’ was all he said, as he climbed back into the car. All Sam could do was follow.

 

As they drove back to the station, at a more sedate pace, Sam brought Phyllis up to date and let her know to expect four for the cells. Then another silence fell. Sam was now sure he was in for a bollocking, and wished that it would happen sooner rather than later. This wasn’t Gene’s style, delaying the inevitable, dragging it out. He noticed that Chris and Ray had fallen in behind them, and wondered if the Guv was just waiting to get back to the station to make his humiliation more public. This was the longest car journey of his life.

They stepped back in to the station, Phyllis nodding her congratulations to them and a wide-eyed Annie behind her, looking to Sam for some information. He couldn’t even rustle up a smile for her, but followed Gene past them and into the CID offices. As they got in to the main body of the office, Gene spun on his heel and Sam nearly collided with him.

‘What the hell was that, Tyler?’ he asked, sharp and low.

‘Sorry, Guv,’ was all Sam could say. He knew he’d made a mistake back there, running in blind, and he’d nearly paid for it. He started to feel shaky.

‘Sorry? You’re sorry? You will be sorry you little scrotum, you scared the crap out of me!’ This, Sam hadn’t expected, and he turned on instinct to see if anyone else had heard. He saw Chris and Ray advancing down the corridor, not near enough to hear the Guv’s subdued tones. They would be here in a second though.

As he had his head turned away, Gene pushed him, lightly. ‘You look at me when I’m talking to you, Tyler. You just look at me and listen up. Don’t ever, ever let me see you charging in somewhere like that again.’

The injustice of this rankled with Sam. ‘Charging in?’ he asked. ‘Who do you think I learned that from?’

‘Charging in without your gun up is very different. You could have been shot. You could have been shot, right in front of me.’ Sam heard Chris and Ray come in, then, could picture the look of glee on Ray’s face as he prepared to watch his DI get his arse handed to him. This made Sam feel angrier.

‘Well, Guv, maybe next time you should just let it happen, teach me a lesson, how about that?’ He saw Gene’s eyes narrow and he was grabbed by the arm. He looked down at the bruising fingers with an expression of scorn.

‘Let me guess - you want a word?’ he said, sarcastically. Gene yanked him forward, managed to swap their places so he could give Sam a hard shove towards his own, private office. Sam went with it, stumbling but wanting to get away from Ray’s mocking eyes, anyway. As they went through the door, Gene slammed it closed with a practised heel and spun Sam again, this time against the filing cabinet. He got into Sam’s space, not holding him or pushing any more, but undeniably ready to do so if the situation called for it.

 

‘I could have seen you shot,’ he said again. ‘You could have died.’

‘No shit, Gene. That’s what happens to us, every day.’

Now Gene did push him again, rocking the cabinet. ‘Don’t you come the smart arse with me. Don’t you dare.’

‘Well, Guv, stop shoving me around and I’ll have a think about it,’ he retorted, that old flame of anger now coloured with another emotion. Gene’s touch held new meaning now, and even when it was less than gentle it still seemed to have the power to turn Sam on, under the surface.

Gene was scowling into his face, pressing so close to him that their stomachs were almost touching. ‘Do I have to send you off on basic training again?’ he growled.

Sam didn’t reply to that, only looked Gene in the eye with an insolent stare. Gene wasn’t finished.

‘You disgraced yourself Tyler. And me. If my own DI can’t catch a bunch of pansies like that without getting dragged in as a hostage...’ Sam cut him off.

‘Bunch of pansies, were they? Is that why you shot one of them and kicked another one half to death?’

‘I shot one of them to save you. I look after my men,’ his voice was louder now, and Sam wondered if it would carry to the others. The rest of A division must be getting back by now, they would have quite the audience. It wasn’t enough to stop him raising his own voice, though.

‘Look after us? By shoving us about and calling us names? Right, Guv. I feel dead looked after.’ His words hit home, making Gene draw his face into a snarl.

‘Well you should, Dorothy, because if it wasn’t for me you’d be dead.’ That was the first time Gene had called him Dorothy since before they’d kissed, and it stung.

‘Oh it’s Dorothy again, is it? Well, Guv, I’m glad to know how you really feel. You shouldn’t hold back so much, you know?’ This earned him another shove, and this time Gene held on to his lapels, using them to draw their faces even closer together. He dropped his tone again, keeping his words private, between them.

‘You are pushing my buttons here, Tyler. That's not a smart move.’ He still looked furious, but was there something else that Sam was picking up there? A reflection of his own lust? By God, he thought there was.

‘Bloody hell, Guv. I don’t know if you want to fight me or fuck me.’ He said it quietly, but with all the listening ears right outside he felt as though he’d shouted it from the rooftops. It was dangerous, so dangerous... but there was a black fun to it, too. Gene finally flattened his body against Sam’s, and for a moment Sam could feel something that wasn’t Gene’s gun in his pocket.

‘You want the truth? Me neither.’

‘Maybe we could find out, later,’ said Sam, trying to keep his voice steady.

‘Maybe we could, at that.’ Gene dropped Sam’s collar, stepped away. He raised his voice again. ‘If I ever catch you pulling something like that again, Tyler, I’ll demote you to DC faster than you can say “Shit, he’s got a gun”.’

‘Yes, Guv,’ Sam replied, the fight gone out of him with the promise of another night with Gene later.

‘Get back in there and write this mess up. Oh, and I think you’ll find that one of the robbers was injured when the hostage taker dropped his gun. Don’t you?’

Sam understood, and while he may once have balked at the suggestion of lying in his paperwork, nowadays he could see the merit in it, now and again.

‘Yes, Guv,’ he said again, meekly this time.

‘Good.’ Gene drew a hipflask from his pocket and took a long draw. ‘Get on with it.’

 

Sam did his best to look chastised as he left the office, catching Chris’ commiserating shrug with a slight roll of his eyes. Inside, though, he was on top of the world. Tonight was shaping up to be fun.

 

 


	16. Love You Till Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's official: Sam Tyler cannot help but think too much.

They had hardly made it into Sam’s flat before they started kissing, touching each other, wound up by having to keep their intentions secret all day long. This was the first time they’d got so close without being drunk - Gene’s hipflask notwithstanding - and it was a little different. The desire was still there but it started to become tempered with self-consciousness. They lay on Sam’s uncomfortable bed, half dressed, kissing and running their hands over each other, but after a while Sam had lost the feeling.

‘Stop...’ he said, moving his head away and dropping his chin so that his eyes didn’t meet Gene’s. He could feel Gene’s surprise and frustration coming out at him in waves.

‘What?’ he asked, sharply.

‘It’s just... It doesn’t feel right.’

Gene obviously had no idea what to say to this. His roving hands stilled, one on Sam’s bare waist, the other falling away from its place in Sam’s dark hair. Sam felt overwhelmed by a sense of shame and sadness. He wanted to want this, sober or otherwise, but God, it was so weird. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the possible consequences of this entanglement: he might lose his job as DI; he might lose the Guv altogether; he might strand himself here in 1973 by getting attached. All these thoughts, and more, spun round his brain no matter how much he tried to keep himself in the moment. Everything that Gene was doing felt right, but every time he tried to focus on that some new possible problem popped into his mind and dragged it off to the side. He felt stranded, alone, confused.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, barely audibly. This was definitely not cool.

 

Gene didn’t know what to make of it. All day, since their fight in the office, Sam had been winding him up, going out of his way to make body contact and dropping words loaded with double meaning. Now he said it didn’t feel right? Gene would never have taken him for such a cock tease. He felt frustrated, itching all over, unable to think clearly. Sam’s hand rested on his chest, palm flat, as though pushing him away. There was no need of that; Gene Hunt had never forced himself on anyone, he wasn’t going to start now.

Sam’s head was still dipped, his posture almost cringing. Looking down at the hunched shoulders, Gene began to understand a bit more. This was weird, he couldn’t deny it. Sam was a troubled sod at the best of times; just because he, Gene, had made his peace with this step into the unknown didn’t mean that Sam had. Besides, his own peace was largely dependent on him not thinking about things too much. He certainly didn’t want to pressure Sam into anything he’d regret. He had no idea what to say, though. This was all so new, from top to bottom. He shifted a little, leaning back on his hip.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘It’s OK.’ Working on instinct, he squeezed the hand on Sam’s waist. Sam looked up at him, hazel eyes wide and hopeful. He nodded, then took his hand away as he rolled onto his back to fetch the cigarette packet from his coat pocket; he’d dropped his coat by the bed in the early moments of their passionate kissing as they’d come in the door. He took one out of the packet and sparked it with the lighter he kept in there. He stayed on his back for the first draw, then pulled himself back on to his side, facing Sam. Usually he would smoke facing away from him, but now it seemed important to make eye contact, show Sam that he wasn’t angry. He had a monumental case of blue balls, yes, but he wasn’t angry.

 

They lay in silence, Sam with his shirt off, Gene with his half unbuttoned and rumpled. Sam had gone back to looking down, his hand now between them on the bed. On impulse, Gene tucked his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and reached down to take that hand. He curled his fingers into the palm, squeezing gently before relaxing again, but not taking it away. He squinted an eye against the smoke and spoke around his fag.

‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to,’ he said, quietly. Sam looked up again, his expression muddled.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to. I do, I just... God, it’s complicated. Isn’t it?’ His eyes took on a pleading cast, and Gene loosed his hand again to take his smoke away from his face.

‘It is, Tyler. Wish it wasn’t.’ He puffed out a stream of blue smoke, upwards away from them, then realised he didn’t have an ashtray. ‘Hang on,’ he said, as he heaved himself out of bed to get one. The saucer from Friday night was sitting on the table against the wall, and he walked around to pick it up. He turned back to find himself facing the same dilemma as the last time; should he get back on the bed with Sam, or take up residence in the chair? One look at Sam’s curled in posture made the decision for him, and he walked back round to join him on the bed, leaving some room in the middle to place the saucer. Sam rocked himself back to allow a bit more space.

 

‘Look,’ said Gene. ‘You know I’m not a talker. Makes me uncomfortable. All I’ll say is this: I like you, Tyler. You’re the best copper I’ve ever worked with, and that takes some doing.’

Sam didn’t meet his eyes as he replied. ‘Is that what I am? A good copper?’

‘Yeah. I don’t know why you decided to transfer through from Hyde, but I’m glad you did.’ Sam seemed on the verge of speaking, but then changed his mind. Silence fell between them as Gene continued to draw on his cigarette, filling the tiny flat with wisps of smoke. He felt the awkwardness, the Atmosphere, and hated it. It reminded him of inconvenient facts; facts that told him he wasn’t twenty years old any more, that he couldn’t just have casual flings that meant nothing. Especially not with members of his own constabulary. Especially not with other men.

‘Thanks, Guv,’ said Sam, still sounding sad. Gene didn’t want to say any more, give away anything else of himself, but he felt like there was one last thing he should add.

‘You’re my partner, Sam. I don’t want to lose you.’ That was more than he’d usually have admitted, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He thought he could see Sam straightening out a bit, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

‘So if I said I couldn’t do this... You wouldn’t send me away?’ he asked, still not looking up. Gene couldn’t believe Sam felt like he had to ask this again, and his voice was harder as he answered.

‘We’ve had this conversation already. I won’t be sending you back anywhere. I thought you were getting ready to pack your bags at any minute, though, the way you talk.’ This was true - it seemed crazy for Sam to worry about being sent away when the rest of the time he was desperate to get back to Hyde. Crazier even than usual.

 

Sam knew that there was truth in Gene’s words, knew how it must look to an outsider, but he had his reasons to be worried. He believed that the only way for him to get home was to figure something out, some locked-in secret of his own mind. Regardless of what strings the Guv might be able to pull, he was sure there was no string long enough to reach to 2006. If Gene did decide one day that he wanted Sam out of his station and called up some higher authority to make it so, what would happen next? Sam feared he’d end up in another new station, with another new set of challenges, but without the benefit of Gene’s solid presence. Probably without the benefit of frequent bruised ribs, if it came to it, but somehow Sam knew he’d miss even those, if he was cast into whatever wilderness his subconscious version of Hyde might be.

If he had to be here, in 1973, he wanted to be here with Gene. The thought that he might have ballsed this up once by letting his emotions and desires get the better of him, and then ballsed it up further by deciding it was a bad idea, was making him miserable.

 

‘Yeah, I suppose,’ Sam said, listlessly. He didn’t know how to get out of this heavy situation he’d created. Gene stubbed out his cigarette, then removed the makeshift ashtray to the floor by the bed. When he rolled back, Sam still hadn’t moved, and he felt another flare of annoyance.

‘Come on Tyler, snap out of it.’ He snapped his fingers in time with his words, knowing that he should really be taking a more gentle approach but not having it in him. ‘We’re both too old for this moping about. It’s only sex, for God’s sake.’

This made Sam look up. ‘Is it?’ he asked, bluntly. Gene looked back at him.

‘It could be, if you weren’t suddenly coming over all Mother Theresa.’ Finally he saw something wake up in Sam’s eyes, some of the self pity go out of them. He was glad to see it. Better angry than pathetic, that’s what Gene thought.

‘Oh, well excuse me for having emotions a little more complicated than you can handle. Life’s not all whiskey, punch ups and hand shandies, you know.’ He turned away then, looking for his shirt. He found a vest next to the bed and pulled it on, wanting to be covered up again. He heard Gene start laughing behind his back and anger filled his chest again.

‘I’m glad you find this hilarious, Gene, I really am. At least one of us is getting something out of it.’ Gene’s laugh cut off and Sam heard him stand up. He kept his back turned, fists clenched by his sides.

‘Getting something out of it? You’ve changed your tune, Tyler, haven’t you? Unless I am very much mistaken, which I never am, you were getting a big something out of it last night, and I don’t just mean my enviably-sized John Thomas.’ Sam spun round, face showing his distaste for the crudeness of this remark.

‘Leave it out, Guv, you know what I mean. It’s not as simple as you want to think.’

‘And it’s not as complicated as you’re trying to make it!’

They were shouting at each other now, the rhythm of their raised voices steadyingly familiar. They both started to walk around the bed, meeting at the foot, glaring dangerously into each other’s eyes.

‘You know _nothing_ about me, Gene. _Nothing_ ,’ Sam said, grimly.

‘I know you’re on a hiding to a slap,’ Gene replied, keeping his eyes firmly on Sam’s.

‘A slap? You can do better than that. Why not have another go at breaking my nose? Go on, I’m right here,’ Sam goaded, shouting up into the set face above him, spreading his hands in invitation. Gene looked very much as though he would like nothing better, but didn’t move.

‘You want to get your head straight, Sam, before it gets you into trouble.’

‘Oh, trouble is it, now? I’ve been in nothing but trouble since I landed here, don’t flatter yourself into thinking you can scare me with a bit more,’ he countered, all melancholy lost in the heat of this argument. He was savagely glad; it was easier to be angry, much easier. Gene’s face remained hard, mouth a thin line.

‘You are impossible, Tyler. I’ve never met anyone so determined to be miserable.’

Sam fell back on that old standby, ‘You have no idea.’

‘So you keep saying. Why don’t you try me?’ Gene tilted his head up, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips. He folded his arms over the half-opened shirt, flexing his broad shoulders. Sam had no idea how to reply to that. It was sorely tempting to lay the whole story out for Gene now, watch him try to deal with it. Of course, he would never believe a word of it, and they could forget any reconciliation once the Guv thought he was a nutcase. Besides, Gene was only trying to push him into giving away something he didn’t want to, and Sam resented that. Resented the hell out of it.

‘Piss off, Gene,’ he snapped. ‘Don’t pretend you give a shit.’ He could see that this remark had made an impact, and there was a flicker in the Guv’s eyes. He dropped his arms again.

‘If I was pretending, I’d be doing a much better job of it, and I’d probably have your mouth round my dick again by now.’

‘Oh really?’ said Sam, witheringly, trying to ignore the fact that the blood wasn’t only rising to his face now.

‘Yes, really. It may surprise you to learn that I haven’t always been the pillar of morality you see before you now. I’ve had me share of women, and some of them I am ashamed to say I didn’t give a toss about, but it didn’t stop me getting me end away.’ He saw the judgement in Sam’s eyes. ‘Not like that, I never forced anyone, but I can sweet-talk with the best of them. Yes, I can,’ he said, reacting now to Sam’s scornful expression. ‘If I felt like it I could have had you half way to in love with me by now, complicated or otherwise.’

‘Well, Guv, I am absolutely agog to hear why you haven’t worked your magic on me,’ said Sam, in his finest acerbic tones.

‘Because, whether you believe it or not, I do give a shit. If you wanna go back to how things were, it’s fine by me, but be a man and say it, for Christ’s sake.’ They had edged nearer to each other, with neither of them precisely intending to, so they were in that familiar pose once more; faces turned into each other, shoulders tense. The force of Gene Hunt in all his roused glory spoke to something in Sam that he hadn’t known existed until he’d met this man. This terrible, wonderful man. Before he knew where he was, he was kissing Gene again, and being kissed back, hands that had been poised to push and hit instead pulling and holding, each of them drawing hard breaths between furious, passionate embraces. Gene’s lips were so soft, much softer than Sam had expected in his early, much-denied daydreams. The hint of stubble on his jaw scratched against Sam’s face and lips, both hurting and exciting him. Strong hands were tugging his vest back over his head and he went with it, pressing back in again as soon as it was discarded. He brought his own hands to the remaining buttons on Gene’s shirt, the taste of fresh smoke and the hot breath on his face making it hard to concentrate on getting them undone. When he finally managed it, he plunged both hands under the shirt and against Gene’s sides, round to his back, back to his smooth chest and up into his hair. That too-long hair, both soft and rough, just the right length to wind his fingers through and tug.

Gene gave a near snarl when Sam did this, reciprocating with a nipping bite to Sam’s swollen lower lip. Sam felt hands drop to his belt buckle and this time didn’t have any doubts about it whatsoever. He moved one hand to hold Gene’s jaw, cradling it as the taller man leaned his face down to meet his own. He ran his thumb across the coarse skin, and when it met the corner of their lips Gene ran his tongue out, very deliberately, to enfold it in heat and wetness. This brought back obvious comparisons to yesterday’s experience in the spare room, and he felt a jolt in his stomach. As Gene reached into his trousers, not even bothering to try taking them off, he followed suit and began unbuttoning the buckle in front of him, tugging down the zip with enough haste to get it snarled up in itself so that he had to use both hands to pull it taut and open it properly. All this time, the hand on his dick was making it hard to focus, made him gasp into the open mouth locked on his own.

 

As Tyler finally slid a hand into his underwear, Gene barely contained a shiver. The novelty was still there, evidently, and coupled with the heated exchange between them it was making him as horny as ever. He curled his free arm round Sam’s narrow waist and tugged him closer, pressing them together at mouth and at crotch. The feeling of Sam’s hand against his own as they stroked each other towards a climax was a huge turn-on, and he maintained his firm hold round Sam’s waist as they moved faster and harder.

 

Once more, they came together, and as the stars in front of his eyes faded, Gene marvelled at how much easier it was to make that happen with another bloke. No matter what the films would have you think, it was never like that with a woman, you were on edge the whole time, worried that you were racing ahead, being a sexist pig. He liked to please his lovers, took pride in it, but with Sam it seemed easy to do. They had left off kissing at the end, Sam leaning his head into Gene’s neck to muffle the soft groans he was making, and Gene rested his face against Sam’s hair now, breathing deeply. Gene had been working his hand gently against Sam, prolonging his orgasm as much as he could, but he could feel that it was all over. It was for him, too, and he felt suddenly weak around the knees. He withdrew his hand as Sam did the same, both of them taking a shambling step backwards and apart. They looked at each other, and Sam said,

‘You manipulative bastard. You made me angry on purpose!’ His eyes were dancing though, and Gene thought he might not really believe it. Or, at least, might not mind it. In fact, he hadn’t really planned what had just happened; he’d wanted Sam angry rather than pouting like a teenager, but hadn’t thought ahead to what might have come after the anger. He supposed it was obvious, in hindsight, but you know what they say about hindsight.

‘Not a bit of it, Tyler. You were the one playing hard to get, you tease.’ He kept his own eyes mellow. Sam frowned at him, which was spoiled by a broad smile battling to escape the compressed lips. Gene huffed laughter, then looked down at the not inconsiderable mess they’d made. He jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom then made his way there to do the necessary. He could hear Sam running water in the kitchen sink, presumably doing the same. You didn’t get this in the films, either. Mind you, he hadn’t been watching the kind of films where two blokes had their hands in each other’s trousers.

 

Sam knew that he should feel manipulated, but he honestly didn’t believe that the Guv had done this on purpose. He was more a man of action than deceit. Besides, he had to be honest; he’d enjoyed that fierce, brief encounter just as much as the others, was glad it had happened. As he dried off his hands and swiped a towel across his stomach, he hoped Gene would stay with him tonight. Tomorrow was soon enough to face up to all the reasons that this was a terrible idea. He knew they’d have to eventually, but surely it could wait just one more night?

He started to fasten himself back up again, but realised that he’d be better off in fresh clothes instead. Not wanting Gene to come back and find him naked (as absurd as that was), he quickly stripped down and produced a pair of jogging trousers from a drawer. He pulled them on, soft and comfy against his skin, then went back to the bed to sit down. Gene emerged then, shirt and, for that matter, fly still open, the man himself seeming completely at ease with this state of undress.

‘Well, Tyler, what’s it to be tonight? Want me to get going, leave you to your thoughts?’ Sam took the mocking with good nature.

‘Let’s say you’ve convinced me otherwise, Guv.’

Gene nodded slowly, eyes still bright but a more serious look on his face. ‘Feeling better?’ Sam could only shrug.

‘Doesn’t do to think too much, does it?’

‘Couldn’t agree with you more, Tyler.’

They smiled at each other, but in their hearts they both knew that the time for thinking would come before long.


	17. Can You Hear Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when it seems like things are working out for Sam, this happens.

Gene was kissing him again. He had no memory of when it had begun, it felt like there might never have been a time when they weren’t locked together in this gentle embrace. Everything else was hazy, all that was real was Gene’s mouth, and his hands in Sam’s hair. Sam had his eyes closed, seeing nothing but red darkness. He felt light, free, as though the doubts and worries he’d had were nothing more than fever-dreams. He felt like he might never have to worry again. As Gene kissed him, so gently this time, he felt his body react, yearning for more. He reached down to touch Gene, the tips of his fingers brushing across taut fabric before his palm pressed in to cup the length of him.

Suddenly they were standing apart, on either side of the bed. Sam didn’t remember getting up, wasn’t sure how they’d got here. Gene was angrier than Sam had ever seen him before, his teeth bared and neck stiff. He was fully clothed, right down to driving gloves and coat, while Sam was dishevelled, half-undressed. Gene stared across the space between them, menacingly.

‘Don’t touch me,’ he said, voice flat but loud. ‘Keep your hands to yourself.’

Sam had no idea what was happening. He was finding it hard to keep his eyes open; Gene’s anger seemed almost to give off a fierce white light. He tried to force them wide, to look at Gene properly, to find out what was going on.

‘Gene...’ he started, not sure what else to say.

‘Shut up.’ The Guv’s voice was sharp, full of edges. Sam squinted at him, blinking hard. He couldn’t focus. This was all wrong.

‘Guv...’ he tried again, a note of pleading entering his voice.

‘I _told_ you to _shut up_.’ All Sam could do was co-operate, he didn’t know what to say anyway. His hands hung by his sides, feeling as though they were weighted down. His whole body felt heavy and stupid. How they had gone from the sweetest, most tender moment they’d had together to this, Sam couldn’t understand. He still couldn’t bring his eyes into focus and gave another deep blink to try again.

‘Listen to me,’ Gene started, voice rising. ‘If I ever see you again, and I do mean ever, I will beat you so hard your own mother wouldn’t recognise you.’

_Sam._

His mother. Mum. His mum - that was her voice, calling him. So different to the commanding tones that Gene was using now. So soft. God, he missed her so much.

‘Are you _listening_ , Tyler?’ The Guv was shouting at him, not at the full height of his range but approaching it.

‘Yes... Guv... What...?’ Sam was more confounded than ever. He brought his hands up to his eyes and pressed hard, trying to rub them clear.

‘You _know_ what,’ roared Gene, with great venom.

‘I don’t!’ cried Sam, feeling sick.

_Sam... Can you hear me?_

That was definitely his mum. He wished he could see her again, wished he’d never woken up here in 1973 in among this chaos. Sometimes he could hear her speaking to him but he could never answer, and that was worse than nothing at all. And now Gene, the man he relied on, the man he’d trusted to lead him and look after him, had turned on him. Was looking at him like something you might see in the morgue after a house fire. He couldn’t stand it. He started to walk around the bed, to get closer to Gene, hoping that he’d be able to see him properly if he just got a bit nearer. His steps dragged, as though he was wading through a swamp. It was hard to lift his feet.

 

‘Go ahead and take one more step, Sunshine. Just one more. I’m begging you.’ Sam knew all the warning signs when it came to Gene Hunt, had seen him flare up enough times to know when it was about to happen, but he couldn’t help himself and carried on his slow way round the foot of the bed. Gene turned to face him, took a step forward of his own. To Sam’s eyes he was a shadowy figure, less clear instead of more, now that they were standing next to each other. Part of the shadow rose and Sam felt a burst of pain as the right hook connected squarely with his jaw, breaking it. His legs, already struggling to bear his weight, folded and he landed on the ground.

‘You’re nothing but a dirty queer, Tyler. You stay the hell away from me, and from my men. There’s no place for your filth round here. Go back to Hyde.’

Sam looked up at him, tears in his eyes, unable to feel even the beginnings of anger. He felt as though the breath had been crushed out of his lungs, his jaw flared and throbbed miserably.

‘Guv, please. What’s happening?’

‘What’s happening? I will tell you what’s happening, if you are determined to pretend you don’t know. You have been making eyes at me for months, touching me when you think nobody’s looking, dropping in little suggestive remarks when you think nobody will hear them.’ Sam’s head, already swimming before the blow to the jaw, spun in wild reels.

‘No...’ he said, weakly, but Gene didn’t stop.

‘Tonight you finally got me drunk enough and piled me into me own car, then drove me back here to touch me up. Unfortunately for you, it takes a lot more than you’d think to keep me drunk for long, and finally I’ve got the reason I need to send you packing.’

‘No, Guv... That never happened...’ He was almost sure it had never happened. Wasn’t he?

_Look what they’ve done to you. My brave boy._

‘Mum...’ he whispered.

‘You, Tyler, are a pervert. You disgust me.’ Gene drew back then unleashed a kick to Sam’s thigh that left his leg utterly dead, and sent him toppling on to his side. He covered his face with his arms, expecting more kicks and blows to rain down. Instead, Gene only stood over him, a dark cloud.

A smaller cloud detached itself from his form, seeming to have come from behind him.

‘He’s right you know, Sam. I’ve been watching you.’ That voice. It had been silent in the last couple of weeks, but he recognised it again now. ‘You _are_ disgusting.’ The Test Card Girl stood over him, looking down with her serious face, her clown doll dangling from one hand like a hanged man.

‘That’s not what happened. None of this is real,’ Sam managed, trying to take strength from his own words. He still felt like he had to gasp for breath, his vision slid in and out of clarity. His jaw ached and felt swollen, his leg had started to come back to life and added its own bass thud to the symphony of pain.

‘Not real?’ chorused Gene and the Test Card Girl together. ‘Not _real_?’ And then they started to laugh, Gene’s booming cackle entwining uncomfortably with the giggles of the child.

 _Sam? Can you hear me? I’m right here._ He tried to draw comfort from his mum’s voice but it was hard to get past the mocking laughter that surrounded him. Another noise added to the cacophony; the beep of a hospital monitor. It was speeding along, echoing his racing heart, and more hot tears spilled from his eyes.

_Sammy?_

_-bip-_

_Sam?_

_-bip-_

‘You disgust me, Tyler.’

 _-bip_ -

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, pressing hard enough to send silver flashes across his vision, then with superhuman effort pushed the lids all the way open. He let out a huge gasp as he did so, trying to fill his lungs with fresh, clean air.

 

He was suddenly able to focus again, and the first thing he saw was Gene’s face, frowning thunderously into his own. He let out a scream and scrambled back, realising too late that he was no longer on the floor but in bed; he fell to the carpet with a teeth-rattling thud and cried out again as he bit his tongue. He brought his knees up to his face, tucked his head down and wrapped his arms around it, blocking everything out. Finally, there was silence. Blessed silence.

He curled up there in this new silence for a few moments, waiting for the next blow to fall. Understanding began to grow as he did.

 _A dream. It was a bad dream,_ he told himself. His heart still hammered, and his breath came in gasps, but the pain in his face and leg had gone, and he felt able to move himself without that sensation of being held back by invisible strings of elastic. He blinked into the darkness he’d created; his eyes felt normal, easy to open. It was obvious now, but as he’d been held in the terror of the dream it had felt so real. God, that had been a bad one.

 

He sensed movement at his feet, and lifted his head just enough to look out over the top of his arms. He’d started to shiver a little, the cold floor and the remnants of the dream working on him. Gene had eased his way off the bed and onto the floor, and sat with his back against the bed, regarding Sam steadily.

‘What happened there, then?’ he asked, conversationally. Sam looked at him, remembering the hurtful words dream-Gene had said to him, the feeling of his jaw cracking as the punch hit home, his mum’s faraway voice, and it was all too much. His chest hitched as he folded his lips together, trying to hold it in, but he felt his chin wobble treacherously. Tears sprang to his eyes unbidden and he returned his head to his knees, trying at least to hide his face while he collected himself. He battled hard against the sobs that wanted to come, applying every ounce of his will to denying his body this shameful release. He felt Gene move away from his feet and was both glad and disappointed. When he felt the arm round his shoulders a flood of relief ran through his whole body and he relaxed against Gene’s comforting presence with a watery sigh. Gene had dragged the blanket off the bed and wrapped it round Sam now. Sam kept his head down and eyes closed, managing some deeper and steadier breaths now.

‘Alright, Sam. That’s enough, yeah? You’re alright.’ Gene’s calm voice, so rarely used, worked it charms and Sam nodded, wiping at his eyes brusquely.

‘Yeah. Sorry Guv.’

‘What happened?’

‘Bad dream.’

‘I’ll say. You were talking, in your sleep,’ he told him. This explained why he’d been looking so intently at Sam when he woke up. _Shit_.

‘What was I saying?’ he asked, bracing himself for the worst.

‘You just kept saying “not real”,’ Gene told him, and Sam felt more relief. He nodded, taking another full breath and rolling his eyes up to blink away the last of the repressed tears. Gene drew a breath of his own.

‘Well, mornings with you are certainly interesting, I’ll give you that,’ he paused then, before asking, ‘What happened? In your nightmare.’

Sam couldn’t tell him. There was no way he could tell him without seeming completely unhinged, probably because he _was_ completely unhinged. Even just a portion of the truth would be bad enough - if Gene got wind that Sam was dreaming about him, he’d never hear the end of it.

‘Don’t remember,’ he lied. ‘Bad though.’

‘I can see that. Come on, get up. Time for work.’

Sam would just have soon have crawled back into bed. As Gene’s arm left his shoulders, he drew the blanket closer round him for a minute, trying to warm himself fully.

‘Can I use the shower?’ asked Gene, standing up. ‘I was itching all day, last time.’ Sam nodded, ignoring the over-share.

‘Towels in a box under the bed, there.’ Gene dragged them out, chose a scratchy towel and slung it over his shoulder. He made to move away, but stopped and leaned over to clap Sam on the arm, through the layers of blanket. Then he headed through to the bathroom, not bothering to close the folding door over. Sam sat for a minute longer, listening to Gene’s mild-mannered swearing as he got the shower to work. When he knew Gene was safely under the water, he allowed himself a few silent tears, shoulders shaking as he relived the worst horrors of the night. As he recovered himself for the second time, he heard the water go back off again and grabbed a towel of his own. He’d have a hot shower, get the day started properly, and he’d feel a lot better.

That wouldn’t be difficult. 


	18. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the station, real life continues. At first that seems like a good thing.

Sam sat in the canteen, alone. The other lads were all crowded together, laughing and smoking, and as much as he could join them in the pub, here in the station he was still a bit of an outsider. He pushed the food around on his plate; he had no appetite for it, but he knew he had to eat something. As he took another forkful, a tray was placed on the table in front of him. He looked up to see Annie smiling at him.

‘Mind if I join you?’ she asked, brightly.

‘Course not,’ he said, smiling back. She took a seat, smoothing her skirt down behind her neatly.

‘How are you?’ he asked, glad of the prospect of a nice, normal conversation.

‘Good! What about you? What happened yesterday? I wanted to speak to you but you seemed so busy all day after you came back... Are you OK?’ Her voice lowered a little on the last question, even though nobody could overhear them over the raucous conversation from the other table.

‘I’m fine, honestly. Let my guard down when I shouldn’t have, that’s all. The Guv had it covered.’ He didn’t want to talk about Gene any more than necessary, afraid that something incriminating would show on his face. Annie wasn’t quite ready to let it lie though.

‘That’s not what I heard. I heard you had a gun to your head!’ Her blue eyes were wide, concerned. Sam felt a flush of warmth at this, it was good to know that someone cared about him like this and wouldn’t give him a hard time for being careless.

‘Well... yeah, that did happen. Honestly, though, I’m fine.’

‘I don’t know how you do it, Sam. You’re so brave.’

 

Sam felt that flush run to his face, his cheeks reddening just a little at Annie’s breathless tone and sincere expression.

‘Not me. A regular cowardy custard, me,’ he replied, winking and taking another mouthful of his cooling lunch. He saw Annie’s eyes soften, her mouth crease into a sweet but slightly stern smile.

‘Don’t be so modest. You’re out there all the time, getting into trouble just so you can keep the rest of us safe...’ Sam couldn’t stand for that.

‘Come on, Annie! You’re out there with us half the time. Couldn’t do most of it without you, you know that.’ This mutual appreciation was getting a bit much, maybe, but he did mean what he was saying. Annie didn’t have nearly enough confidence in her own abilities, she was a great copper, and he hated seeing people ignoring that fact because she was ‘just a plonk’. She turned her eyes down at the compliment, took a bite of her own lunch.

‘Your face is looking better anyway. No more run-ins with the Guv?’ she asked. Sam nearly choked on his Smash.

‘Eh... no. Well, not really. Bit of a disagreement yesterday but no black eyes, you know.’

‘He’s too hard on you,’ she said, causing another involuntary snort. ‘I’m serious! It’s not right, you two fighting all the time. Sets a bad example.’ Sam looked up and caught a glint in her eye.

‘The whiskey drinking, dangerous driving and suspect menacing is OK though, yeah?’ She gave him another tiny smile, eyes twinkling. He returned it with a smirk of his own, then took another forkful of spam.

‘How was the rest of your weekend?’ he asked, before transferring it into his mouth. Annie’s expression clouded over a little as she lowered her head.

‘Yeah, good,’ she said, airily. Sam got the feeling she was hiding something.

‘Did you see your new man again?’

‘Oh... He’s not exactly my new man. He’s more of a friend of a friend. He seems nice, though!’ This sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than Sam. ‘Just a bit... over-friendly...’

Sam swallowed his mouthful. ‘Over-friendly?’ he repeated.

Annie looked uncomfortable. ‘You know. A bit... fresh...’

 

Sam felt his hackles rise. If this prick had put a hand on his Annie, there would be hell to pay. _Hang on... MY Annie?_ That one had slipped through the net. Annie was no more his than he was hers. There was nothing between them. _Remember?_ Still, he couldn’t deny how protective he felt, and tried to tell himself it was more brotherly than anything else.

‘Did he do something you didn’t like? Do you need me to have a word?’ he asked, darkly. Annie’s face lightened again in response, and she gave a half smile.

‘No, it’s OK. I won’t be seeing him again, that’s all.’ Sam continued to look serious and she laughed a little.

‘It’s not that bad! He just got a bit handsy. I can take care of meself, thank you.’ He knew this wasn’t a rebuke, that she was genuinely grateful for his concern. Sam sniffed.

‘Alright. If he comes around bothering you, just let me know, OK? Hey, maybe we can set the Guv on him, eh?’ They both laughed at that.

 

They ate in silence for a little while, then Annie spoke again.

‘You seem a bit different, these days.’

‘Oh yeah? How’s that?’ he asked, trying to stay casual. Annie was perceptive, that was one of the reasons she made such a good police officer. He wondered if she’d picked up some new body language between him and Gene, even though they’d been trying hard to be completely normal.

‘I dunno...’ she mused. ‘Just... a bit happier, maybe. You got someone new on the go?’ She tried to ask this casually but her air was too studied to be completely real. Sam couldn’t believe she would pick this up from the little contact they’d had lately - they hadn’t really spoken properly since last Tuesday, before things with Gene had gone from being an occasional (and mostly repressed) idea to a real series of events. Damn, she was good.

‘No!’ he said, raising his eyebrows but not meeting her eyes. He thought that reply might have been a bit too quick to be believable, and arranged his face into something he hoped was relaxed as he continued. ‘No, nobody ‘on the go’. Spend all my time here, don’t I?’

‘True. And you’d never meet anyone special here, would you?’ Annie’s eyes were downcast, shy, and for a moment Sam thought she was trying to tell him that she knew his secret, knew that he’d been boffing the boss. Sense reasserted itself though and he realised that maybe, just maybe, she meant herself. He didn’t know what to say. He’d so often given himself a hard time for flirting with Annie when he never intended for anything to happen with her... Then again, he’d found himself swept away in his feelings for her more than once; taking her out for the odd drink sometimes, reaching out to touch her face at others. If he could do all that, couldn’t he flirt with her a little? She was so sweet. Sweet Annie. He had to say something, and now.

‘Don’t know about that, Annie,’ he said, in a low voice. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

‘Oh really?’ she asked. Sam thought he saw that little flicker of hope awaken in the blue again.

‘Really. I’ve told you before, I don’t hate everything about 1973.’ Now he’d done it. He was supposed to be acting like a brother for God’s sake. And what about Gene?

Well, what _about_ Gene? Whatever was going on there, it was abstruse in the extreme. Why shouldn’t he just ask Annie out on a proper date, like he’d wanted to for months, and forget about Gene, never mind the multitude of other reasons not to? Thinking that way just didn’t come naturally to him. He was a ‘what if’ kind of guy.

As he thought all of this, Annie looked at him steadily.

‘Sam...’ she started. He looked away, back down at his plate, and took another mouthful, as little as he wanted it. Annie didn’t finish her sentence.

 

‘Tyler!’ The bark startled both of them. The Guv stood just behind Annie, and Sam noticed that the rest of the men had dispersed. The canteen was a lot quieter. How long had Gene been standing there?

‘What?’ he asked, not enjoying this moment, with the two people who’d been tugging his heartstrings lately in such close proximity. He had his face turned up to the Guv, but could see Annie’s eyes on him.

‘We’ve had a shout. Come on.’ He didn’t wait for any answer but turned and walked off, obviously expecting Sam to chase after him, as usual. Sam started to get up without thinking about it. That was the bugger of the thing: he always would chase after him. He looked back at Annie, who had a sad smile on her face. A knowing smile.

‘His master’s voice,’ she said, dully. Sam stood for a moment longer, looking between Annie and the now-closing door of the canteen.

‘Annie, I have to...’

‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sam. I’ll see you later.’ Her eyes had taken on a hardness that he hated to see there. It didn’t suit her.

‘Yes, you will. I’ll speak to you soon, OK? Properly, I mean.’

‘I’ll put it in me calendar,’ she replied, trying for a joke but sounding bitter.

‘I promise.’ On impulse, he leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek, lingering for a second to feel her soft skin, smell the hint of her perfume. He withdrew and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, following after Gene. He looked back once, but Annie had kept her back to him, was carrying on with her lunch. He saw one of the other WPCs walking over with a full tray, ready to join her. Well, she’d have company then, at least. She didn’t need him. In some ways, he was the last thing she needed.

If that was true, why did he feel so guilty?

 

As he walked after the Guv, trying not to rush, he tried to think things over. He really was too old for this. Why couldn’t he just wake up in 2006 again, back in his shiny flat, with his gadgets and gizmos, ready to drink a gin and slimline? The worst of it was that this was all coming from his own mind. He was doing this to himself. Did some part of him feel like he deserved this angst? Maybe it was payment for past sins, such as they might be. He’d always done his best to be the good guy, surely you couldn’t ask much more than that from a man? Whatever this was all about, he was dealing with some shit here that he’d never had had to deal with before the accident. He’d never fancied another man, never got involved in an inappropriate relationship with a work colleague, never mind two work colleagues at once. He just didn’t know what he wanted any more. When he was with Gene, he felt alive, full of testosterone, and usually full of Scotch. When he was with Annie, he felt tender, protective of her. He felt like Annie saw his best self, and he responded to that with these feelings of attraction that were almost above lust. They both made him feel desired - more, wanted - in such different ways. He had the feeling that if he left tomorrow, Gene would get over it with offensive haste, but that Annie would be hurt. If they were real. God, they seemed so real. He couldn’t think like that... but how could he not? How could he function day to day here if he allowed himself to think of them as nothing more than ghosts in the machine? He’d believed in them enough not to take the jump on that first day. Thanks to Annie, of course. The way she’d asked him to stay - they’d just met, but already her blue eyes had caught on to something in him, like a fish hook through the heart.

He’d stayed because of Annie, but soon it had become about more than just her. His relationship with Gene, which was fraught and turbulent and often violent, had come to be a source of joy to him. He’d never have given credit to it at first, but Gene had taught him a lot about being a good copper, and brought him in touch with a reckless side of himself that he’d never have suspected lay there, dormant. What had Gene said to him the other week? _‘Maybe this is more your cup of tea than you care to admit’_.That seemed to be the truth. Why else was he still here? On the other hand, Annie drew out a lot of his sensitive side that years of being a DCI, the man in charge, had pushed to the bottom of the barrel. He had to admit it; looking back, he’d been a bit of a prick before the accident. Especially to Maya.

God, Maya. What the hell was he doing, worrying about which of his mind’s creations he was more attracted to, when he had such a beautiful and very real woman to get back home to? He had to focus on that, had to get back home. He’d cut this affair with Gene off and start avoiding Annie. He’d make himself wake up. He would.

 

‘Don’t mean to interrupt, Tyler, but are you quite ready?’ Sam had reached the Cortina, and Gene was leaning out of the window to speak to him as he approached slowly. He looked back at him blankly, for a moment having no idea where he was.

‘I’ll take that as a yes. Now GET IN.’

He sleepwalked round to the passenger side and climbed in, as Gene put his foot down and took them screeching away from the station. Sam looked at the side of Gene’s face, a mask of concentration. He sighed to himself.

 _I knew it. I knew this would be a mess. I told myself, and then I did it anyway._ He felt exhausted, angry with himself, torn in so many different directions. He wanted to go home. He just wanted to go home.


	19. It Ain't Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's decided to forget all about his relationship with Gene. Like the man said, though, it ain't easy.

Gene could tell that something was up with Tyler, even more than usual. Their shout had been a non-event; they’d had reports of a fracas outside one of the city’s pubs, but when they arrived there was nothing more than a few spots of blood on the ground and a determinedly innocent looking barman claiming total ignorance. Gene had tried, unsuccessfully, to intimidate some of the punters into giving him the full story but eventually had to write it off as a drunken argument that had got out of hand. Drunk at lunchtime on Tuesday. Honestly. Some people had no stamina.

Gene had got himself a pint - or, rather, had looked at the barman meaningfully until he’d given him a pint - but Sam had refused point blank, still wearing that serious, sanctimonious face. Gene had found himself drinking more slowly than usual, trying to tempt him into talking, but instead he’d just prolonged the agony. He’d even tried to start up some conversation himself, but there was nothing doing. He gave up and necked the last third of his drink in one, wanting to get back to familiar territory.

Back at the station, Sam had contrived to spend the rest of the afternoon away from everyone else. Gene could see the looks he was getting from the other men, the faces Ray was pulling behind Sam’s back, and as much as it bothered him he had to let it happen. If he started sticking up for Tyler now it would seem beyond odd. By the time five o’clock rolled around, he felt like he’d worked a double shift, and more than ready for another drink.

 

‘Pub, Guv?’ Chris had put his head round the door of his office, interrupting his thoughts.

‘Pub, Chris. See you there in a minute.’ Chris left, satisfied, and Gene could see that the rest of the office had emptied out, too. Tyler remained at his desk, but he had his coat on and an air of someone finishing one last job. Even when he was taking one of his turns, he was big on getting the job done right. Gene grudgingly admired him for that. He thought this would be a decent time to try and get some sense out of Sam, with no audience to worry about. He sauntered through to the main body of the room, taking a seat near Sam’s desk.

‘Pub, Tyler?’ he asked, casually. Sam looked up at him, his face drawn and tired. _God, he looks dreadful._

‘No thanks, Guv,’ he replied, his voice flat, and went back to what he was doing. Gene raised his eyebrows to himself, lifted his fags out of his pocket and lit one. He took a long draw, let it back out again. How was he going to handle this? They could absolutely not start having lovers’ tiffs in the station, and however he dealt with this, today, would set a precedent for any next time there might be. He felt like it was a bit of a sensitive area, so he approached it with his usual tact and subtlety.

‘What’s the matter with you, then? Are your ovaries playing up?’

He could see Sam clench his jaw and lift his eyes away from the page, but he didn’t look back over.

‘Just a bit tired, Guv. Gonna finish this and get home.’

 

He did look tired, but the change in Sam’s demeanour from yesterday to today was so pronounced that Gene knew something else was up. He had his suspicions about what it might be, too. He’d seen the way Sam had been looking at Cartwright this afternoon, had seen the guilt in his eyes when they’d been interrupted. He thought that Sammy-boy here might have himself a case of lovesickness, and it pained Gene a little to admit that it wasn’t over his fine self. If you counted this mysterious other back home in Hyde, Gene thought that Tyler currently had three people on his affections radar, and he wasn’t the kind of man who would take pleasure in that. _Oh Sam. What a mess._

‘Sam...’ he started, but he was interrupted.

‘Gene, leave it.’

Gene didn’t care for being given orders, especially not in his own station.

‘I will leave it, Tyler, when I’ve got to the bottom of it. Is this about last night?’

‘Not everything has to be about you, you know, Guv,’ came the reply. Sam still looked at the desk in front of him, though he was no longer writing anything.

‘So it’s a total coincidence, is it, that we spent the weekend engaging in a bit of how’s yer father, and now you can’t even bring yourself to look at me? Come on Tyler, we’re both grown men. Well, you less than me, obviously, but can you not pretend?’ This was enough to bring Sam’s eyes up, and Gene was shocked to see how much sadness there was in them. He wondered again what Sam’s nightmare had been about. The way he’d shot away from him when he woke up...

 

‘I can’t do this, Gene.’ Sam’s voice was heavy, full of regret. Gene felt his own heart sink. _He’s breaking up with me._ This was a concept straight out of his teenage years; adults didn’t ‘break up’, they ‘separated’ or ‘grew apart’ or ‘called it a day’. That’s not how this felt though. The last couple weeks had been a whirl of long-buried feelings of excitement, and he’d loved every minute of it. His own emotions had been running higher than usual, with his wife leaving him and dropping him into a well of loneliness. Sam had thrown him a rope, drawn him back out, made him feel wanted and important again. It had been a long time since he’d felt that way. Their few romantic encounters had been borne of those feelings taking over. His relationship with Sam, the mutual respect and affection they had for each other, had grown into something more, and he’d been glad to let it, even though it had made him question himself in ways he’d previously never even considered. Now that it was about to be over, over so soon, he felt the loss keenly. They weren’t ‘separating’. They were breaking up.

It was the right thing. Of course it was; secret affairs couldn’t last forever, especially not an affair between two straight men. if he was honest, though, he’d hoped it would last a little longer than this. It was over before it had really begun. And what would happen now? Would Sam avoid him, leave for Hyde again without a look back over his shoulder? That might depend on how Gene replied to him now. He struggled to find the right words, the words that would show Sam how much he meant to him, even if they never touched each other again.

‘Alright, Sam. We said we’d see what happened, and this is what’s happened. We’re still partners, aren’t we?’

‘Are we, Gene?’

‘Course we are. I’ve told you before, you’re a good copper. That hasn’t changed.’

 

Sam kept his eyes fixed on Gene’s, radiating a great, heavy sorrow. It hurt Gene’s heart to see it; previously he’d have scoffed at that idea, but his stone-clad heart had a chink in its armour when it came to Sam Tyler. He needed looking after, and that was a task Gene had taken on himself, almost before he realised it. In recent days, that had taken a more physical form, but if they took that away there would still be the solid bedrock of the relationship they’d been building from day one. The Gene Genie wasn’t so shallow as people thought. The depth of his feelings for Sam couldn’t be destroyed by a few ill-advised (but irresistible) nights in the sack. They were sitting too far apart for him to touch Sam, and perhaps that was for the best. He’d like to reach out and place a steadying hand on his shoulder, but with their feelings running so close to the surface, who knew where that would lead? And if it didn’t lead anywhere, if Sam brushed his hand away, that would be crushing. He puffed on his cigarette again, looking back at Sam through the smoke, keeping his face calm.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sam eventually said, still looking it. ‘I wish... I wish things were different.’

‘We all do. For one thing I wish you were a bird with big knockers, but what are we gonna do?’ This was a risky gambit but it paid off; Sam gave a grudging laugh, screwing his mouth off to one side.

‘Will we be OK?’ he asked.

‘We’ll be fine, Sam. Business as usual, right?’

‘Right.’

 

There was another pause - Gene had never known anyone who could litter a conversation with so many meaningful pauses - and Sam spoke again.

‘It’s been fun, though, all the same, hasn’t it?’

‘Fun? I’ll say.’ Gene had a quick look around, to make sure they were still alone. ‘I wasn’t lying - that really was the best blow job I’ve ever had.’ Sam laughed again, which was a great improvement.

‘Tell you what,’ Gene continued. ‘If I’d known last night was gonna be the last time we... well, it would have been different.’

‘Oh yeah?’ asked Sam. ‘Different how?’

Gene wasn’t really sure how to express what he was thinking. So many times, after the end of a relationship, he’d had this same feeling. That, if he’d known it’d be the last time, he’d have made it count. Made it a fitting end. Like in the films - life was so chaotic, full of loose ends, but in the movies things were always tied up in neat little bundles. The characters had their last kisses, said things like ‘Here’s looking at you, kid’. No loose ends.

‘Dunno,’ he mused, a bit embarrassed at having brought it up at all instead of just dealing with this in stoic silence, like a man should. He did feel, though, that last night’s quick and angry encounter, followed by an uncomfortable night’s sleep on Sam’s folding bed and the traumatic start to today, was definitely not what he would have planned. There would have been more booze, more laughs, a better night’s sleep and a far more amiable morning. Still, that was life for you.

 ‘Maybe... no. Nothing. Aren’t you off to the pub?’ Sam said, trying to change the subject.

‘Maybe what, Tyler?’

‘Nothing Guv. I’d better get off, need to catch up on some sleep.’

He stood up with these words, looking away again. Gene remained seated.

‘No, go on, maybe what?’

Sam looked uncomfortable. ‘Maybe we could, you know, have a do-over.’

‘A what? If that’s one of your weird Hyde sex games, you can count me out...’ Gene was only winding him up; he thought he knew what Sam meant, really.

‘Forget it,’ said Sam, taking a few steps past him towards the door. Gene reached out and stopped him, coming to his feet.

‘No,’ he said, simply. ‘I know what you mean. D’you think it’s a good idea?’

Sam shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s any worse of an idea than all the other ones we’ve had just lately.’

Gene gave a small smile at that. ‘Alright, then. Come on.’

‘Down the pub?’ asked Sam, trying to keep his voice neutral.

‘The pub? On our last date? I don’t think so, Sammy-boy.’

‘A date, is it, Guv? It’ll be our first as well as our last, then.’

‘Well we’d better make it a good’un, then, hadn’t we?’

 

Gene swept a grand gesture towards the door with one arm. Sam smiled, and started in that direction, with Gene falling in next to him. He knew that this wasn’t what you would call a good idea, but the prospect of one last night of feeling connected with someone, safe, was too good to turn down. He was a great believer in closure. He wouldn’t use that word in front of Gene, not if his life depended on it, but that’s what he was hoping for. What he was offering them with the suggestion of one last night. One date. A date with Gene Hunt.

 

As they climbed into the Cortina, he asked Gene where they were going.

‘I’m taking you to dinner, Sam. A slap up curry and a few pints, how about that?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ he said, and it did. It really did. Tomorrow he could start again trying to figure out what he was still doing here, in 1973. For now, a night of good food, good company and the absence of any bad dreams would be enough.

‘Won’t they be missing you down the Railway Arms?’ he said, as they roared off away from the station.

‘Course they will, but I’m only one man. Sometimes I have to put meself first, eh?’

‘Absolutely,’ Sam grinned, hanging on as they took a sharp corner. He felt a lot lighter than he’d have expected half an hour ago. It had been a bad day for him, from the beginning, and his resolution to end things with Gene had weighed heavy on his heart. There was still sorrow in there, waiting to unfold, but he felt like it might not be as bad as he’d feared. They could have one last night of this, whatever this was, and then things might just go back to normal, given a bit of time. It was the best result he could hope for, really.

 

Dinner was all Gene had promised - they’d gone to the same restaurant Sam had taken them to before, but this time there were no voices on the radio. They’d eaten their fill of spicy food, sunk several pints each, and strolled back to the car feeling happy and sated. Conversation had been light and easy, punctuated with joking and laughs. The drive back to Gene’s house happened in companionable silence, and Sam started to feel the tangles of their recent affair unknot. They were winding it down, going back to normal, and though he felt the pain of the separation it was eased by the promise of a future where they were still partners and, crucially, still friends. They arrived back at the house and went through the same routine, with Sam taking off his boots and jacket while Gene poured them a couple of stiff drinks. Sam settled himself on the couch, accepted the Scotch gratefully, relaxed against the soft cushions. When Gene placed a hand on his knee he looked over, met the slightly questioning look - _Is this alright? -_ with a smile. Of course it was alright. Everything was alright.

 

They drank and watched TV for an hour or two, Gene’s arm soon migrating round Sam’s shoulders again. The atmosphere had lost the electric charge of the preceding nights; there was no more anticipation, no more wondering what was going to happen or pretending to be casual with racing hearts. They enjoyed each other’s company and made the most of this, their last night together. When it came to time for bed, Gene stood to switch the box off, then returned to the couch to finish the last of his Scotch. Sam slid himself forward on the couch, ready to stand up and head for the bedroom. Gene turned to him, reached out a hand to hold his shoulder.

‘Thanks, Sam,’ he said. This caught Sam off-guard.

‘Thanks? For what?’

‘For this. These last couple of weeks, I’ve not been lonely any more. And if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll shove you down the stairs, tell everyone it was an accident.’

Sam grinned. ‘You too Guv,’ he said, not wanting to lay it on too thick. The grin stayed on his face as he leaned forward, towards Gene, and he closed his eyes as their lips met, for the last time. Their kiss was gentle, just as perfect as the one he’d dreamed of last night. Gene’s hand moved from shoulder to jaw, holding his head carefully but firmly as they explored each other’s mouths, breathing in unison. It went on for longer than before, perhaps as they tried to make the most of the opportunity, and when they stopped, they stayed close together, foreheads touching, eyes closed. Sam felt a sadness try to settle on him, but wouldn’t let it. It was the right thing, drawing a close to this side of their relationship, and he knew it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the final hours just as much, if not more, than those that had gone before. Gene drew him into another hug, as he had on the first night they’d spent together, but this time he felt both of the man’s arms wrap around his back and hold him. He let his own arms slide around Gene’s broad form and held on tightly. He burned this feeling into his mind, making it a memory. The feeling of being held tenderly by strong arms, the smell of smoke and aftershave, the tiny scratch of Gene’s stubble against his neck. He breathed it all in, filling himself with the joy of it.

 

Gene let him go, slowly, and they leaned away from the embrace.

‘Come on then. Let’s get some kip,’ he said.

Sam nodded and made it to his feet, led the way upstairs. Whatever happened when they got there, Sam felt like he had his closure, now.

 


	20. Let's Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's over. It's really over. However, no relationship is without its aftermath.

It had been a few weeks since Sam and Gene had spent their last night together. Things had been awkward; Sam wished he could say otherwise. Outwardly, they'd kept it together as best they could, but there were inevitable moments when Sam couldn't help but remember edited highlights from their short affair, and it was hard to be normal. Whatever passed for normal round here. Sometimes, the thought that he'd never have another hug from Gene Hunt was almost like a physical pain. It was something he'd never thought would happen in the first place, had pretended not to want for months, but it turned out that knowing it would never happen again was worse, far worse, than he could have imagined. The sex was one thing - fun as it had been, Sam suspected that the thrill of novelty would only have got them so far. The connection they'd shared was another. He missed the easy banter they'd had before, even missed the less easy arguments that they'd both subtly avoided having in the last few weeks. They hadn't touched each other at all, not a pat on the arm or a punch to the ribs. It turned out that he did miss it, more than was sane. Whatever passed for sane, round here. 

The rest of CID must have noticed the changes between the Guv and the Boss. Nobody had mentioned it to Sam, not even Annie, but he could see people exchanging looks when Gene dropped some egregious example of bad taste and Sam didn't react, or when Sam came out with some smart comment and Gene blanked him completely. The times when they were alone, usually in the car, were in this respect the easiest - at least they didn't have the pressure of putting on a face for anyone else - but at the same time were the worst of all. They didn't mention what had happened between them, not even in hints, and there were a lot of silences when they weren't talking about work.

 

It was during one of these silences, on the way back to the station from a job, that the Guv spoke up.

'Had a phone call the other night,' he said, voice forcedly casual.

'Oh yeah?' asked Sam, matching his tone but beginning to have an intuition about where this might be going, and not knowing how to feel about it.

'Yeah. The missus.' There it was.

'Oh?' was all he could say, feeling like an idiot but not knowing what else there was.

'Yeah,' Gene said again, keeping his eyes straight ahead. 'She, eh... well she's had enough of her mother. Can't say as I blame her.'

Sam didn't say anything. He still wasn't sure how he felt. He'd known that things were over between him and Gene - in fact, he'd finished it, and if he was ever in the position to tell anyone so he most certainly would. He also couldn't deny still having those feelings of attraction to Annie, and when they'd gone out together last week for a quiet drink, he'd stolen another peck on the cheek that hadn't felt entirely platonic. Nor had it felt particularly stolen, if it came to that. So really he had no grounds to feel upset if Gene's wife was going to come back to him. He should feel glad, if anything, that the Guv wouldn't be on his own any more. All this made perfect sense, but he couldn't shift the feeling of loss in his chest.

'So she's coming home then?' he asked, redundantly. Gene sniffed.

'Yeah... she asked me to go and pick her up at the weekend.' There was another pause, then, 'I've had enough of living on me own, Sam. It doesn't suit me.' Sam nodded. He didn't want Gene to be lonely. He didn't want that for either of them.

'Good,' he said. 'That's good. I'm glad.'

'Are you?' Damn him, he couldn't just make this easy, could he?

'Yeah, course I am. Why wouldn't I be?' Gene didn't answer that, but carried on speaking, as though he couldn't keep the words to himself.

'I love her, you know.'

'I know, Guv. I know you do. You better straighten up and fly right, though, eh? No more nights down the pub?'

This was met with a snort. 'That will be shining bright. Catch me turning henpecked...'

 

A pause.

 

'I might cut down a bit though, you know. Spend a bit more time round the house.' Sam smiled despite himself. Gene was so full of bluster, wouldn't be caught dead looking as though he was putting any effort into his marriage, but he obviously loved his wife. When she'd left him, he'd taken solace in what Sam had to offer, which had suited them both. However, Sam knew the word 'rebound' even if Gene didn't. He didn't think that was all that had happened, but he'd be lying to himself if he tried to say it had nothing to do with it. Gene would never have cheated on his wife, not properly, if he hadn't thought she was gone for good. His morals might be alien to Sam, but that didn't mean they weren't there.

'Hope you're not laughing at me, Dorothy,' snapped Gene, catching Sam's smile out of the corner of his eye. Since their argument in Gene's office after Sam had been taken temporarily hostage, Gene hadn't called him any girls names. And here it was, finally, that old favourite - Dorothy. Sam surprised himself by being glad to hear it. Maybe it meant they could get back to normal one day, after all.

'I wouldn't do that, would I Guv?' he asked, still with a hint of a smile on his face. Gene snatched a look at him as he drove, and his hard expression softened. They hadn't made much eye contact lately, maybe both afraid of what they'd see, but they did so fleetingly now. Sam saw the old, pre-kiss Gene Hunt in those eyes, poised between starting a fight and letting loose a hoarse laugh.

'I suppose not Tyler. You know what's good for you, eh?'

'That's right. I do.'

The atmosphere seemed a bit lighter, and Sam wondered how long Gene had been keeping this bit of news to himself, if it had been preying on his mind. People thought that the Guv always acted just to please himself, but Sam knew there was more to him. He was a protector of his men, and maybe, just maybe, this extended to sparing their feelings sometimes, too.

 

It was the end of the day - but not the end of their shift. The Guv was briefing them on tonight's job; they had an undercover sting planned to pick up some dealers who'd been a thorn in Manchester CID's side for too long. If Sam knew Gene, though, he'd probably be employing his usual briefing style of getting Sam to do the actual work.

'Right, you lot,' the Guv started. 'You know we've been setting this up for ages, and tonight is the night. We're gonna nail these pusher bastards, once and for all. Since this is such a dangerous mission, I will once again be leading the way.'

'Funny that, Guv. Every time we go undercover in a pub you're right there in the front line,' said Ray, to a round of muted laughter.

'Never let it be said that Gene Hunt was found wanting, Raymondo,' the Guv answered.

'Not wanting of a pint, anyway,' added Chris, to more chuckles.

'Alright, enough. Are we all clear on what's happening? Sam?' As expected, and right on cue. Sam was ready with his answer.

'Yes Guv.' He stood up to stand next to Gene, and turned to face the room. 'Annie, Phyllis, you'll be with me and the Guv. We'll take up position as near the suspects as we can. Ray, Chris, you'll be in a strategic position near the exits, with WPCs Mills and Atkins.' Ray nudged Chris at that, grinning. The WPCs appeared less enthused, obviously not relishing being here in the all-male CID environment, or loving the idea of being paired off with Ray and Chris. 'We keep watch, try to catch them selling, and if anything kicks off we radio for backup.' He looked round, eyebrows raised, waiting to take any questions. There were none, and he turned back to the Guv.

'Right,' said Gene. 'See you all back here at twenty one hundred. That's nine o'clock to you, Chris.' Chris took the jibe in his stride, possibly because he had needed the clarification. Everyone dispersed, with Annie casting Sam one last lingering look on her way out.

'Home first, Guv?' Sam asked, trying to pretend that long moment of eye contact hadn't happened. For once, Gene seemed willing to let it slide.

'Home first. Can't turn up looking like this, it'll be too obvious that I'm a man of great importance.' Sam nodded sagely.

'Alright,' he said, starting towards the door. Gene accompanied him, and they passed through the double doors at the same time. Being so close to the Guv was easier than it had been at first, but there were still times when it gave Sam a shiver. He repressed it as best he could, trying to keep his mind firmly on the job ahead of them. Going undercover was always risky, and the more officers you had involved, the worse it was. There would be eight of them tonight, four of them inexperienced in the field, and it was fraught with potential danger. Everyone else might see it as a trip to the pub but he knew differently. Gene was a bloody liability, as well; he had started to take to the concept of 'undercover' a bit more, these days, but you still never knew when he was going to go off at a tangent. He, Sam, would have to be on his best form.

 

When they got outside, Gene offered him a lift back to his flat, but Sam turned him down. Another spell in the car might undo all the good they'd managed to do with their conversation earlier. Besides, even if they'd managed to look one another in the eye, and talk about 'birds' for five minutes, there was still some stuff under the surface. In Sam's experience, that under the surface stuff never really went away; he'd never slept with anyone who he'd later been able to look at as 'just a friend'. Sex changed things. They could go back to being partners, and he thought they were well on their way to doing that, but there would never be any 'just' about it. Gene took the refusal with his usual indifference and climbed into the Cortina, roaring away as though late for some important event. Sam trudged onwards, back towards his flat.

 

As he got himself ready, Sam thought over the plan for tonight. He visualised everything going perfectly; positions reached and held, a good clean collar, no guns drawn and certainly no skirmishes. No shots fired. No hostages taken. He held the images in his mind's eye, as he often did before a job like this, and allowed himself to fully believe that it would all happen just as he had planned it. Well, tried to believe it, anyway. The spectre of Gene Hunt kept acting out; even in Sam's imagination, he was hard to control. Or should that be the imagination within Sam's imagination? He dismissed this thought, trying not to be distracted. It was time to head back to the station. He slid his leather jacket on, and checked the inside pocket for his badge. He lifted it out, opening it to reassure himself that it was all there and in order. On one side, a corner of paper poked out from behind his warrant card. He frowned, and tugged at it. As it slid out, he remembered what it was, and remembered putting it there.

Pressed flat, and a little smudged from being folded over, was a sheet of paper bearing just one word, in Gene's handwriting.

_Sam_

Looking at it brought a rush of emotions; he had picked this up the day after their first kiss, the day after things had really and irreversibly changed. He remembered lifting it out of the bin in Gene's office, and putting it in his pocket, with the other two discarded notes. When he'd found them again, he'd made himself throw the other two out, but he'd tucked this one safely away. Just one word, just his name, but it was a powerful token nonetheless. He thought that keeping it in with his badge, his shield, seemed appropriate.

He looked at it just a moment longer before carefully folding it and tucking it all the way back in. He snapped the wallet shut again, slid it into his inside pocket, and took a deep steadying breath. That book was closed - he'd closed it himself. No point in getting all misty eyed over it, now. Gene was still the Guv, and Sam still his DI, and that was a lot more than most people could say. More than most people would ever have. And tonight, they had a job to do.


	21. Everything's Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of an era - a familiar scene...

Sam was caught up in a confusing world of harsh, white light. He struggled to open his eyes, feeling like he might just be able to manage it this time. The beep of the hospital monitor was mixed with a voice - but not the soothing voice of his mum, or the clinical sound of the doctors talking about him. They had been there before, but now there was a taunting, leering voice in their place. Sam was in agony, petrified, unable to move. There was whistling; that song that he’d loved to hear Morcambe and Wise sing, as a kid, now made sinister and haunting, a soundtrack to the stabbing pains all over his body. He was screaming, not sure if his voice was only in his head, screaming to the shadowy figure to stop hurting him.

 

A splintering crash broke through everything else and he sat bolt upright, eyes wide, dragging in a gasp.

‘Are you on strike? Come on, hands off your dingaling, we’ve had another shout.’

The Guv, standing there in all his glory, the ruins of Sam’s front door lying on the ground behind him. It had been a dream - like all the others, it had seemed so real, but there was nothing like Gene Hunt to bring you back to earth.

‘Well seeing as though you broke my door down, I take it it’s big,’ he said, keeping his voice flat even though his heart was still pounding. What a way to wake up. He looked up at Gene, one eyebrow raised. Gene leaned over the bed, bent at the waist, and held his gloved hands apart in an evocative gesture.

‘Shelley Winters’ arse.’ He smacked his leather-clad palms together three times before making his exit, spinning round the now-empty doorframe and not waiting to see if Sam was following him. Sam knew that he would follow, of course he would, but took a second to bring himself fully awake. He ran a hand across his hair, making his bed head worse, and looked around the dingy room he called home here in 1973. What would it be like to have a normal life again? Maybe wake up to the sound of an alarm clock, or talk radio, instead of the noise of his front door being kicked in? He’d have to get that replaced. Again.

‘Tylah!’ The Guv was using his sergeant-major voice on him. He turned his head briefly in the direction of the corridor, then back into the room. With a sigh and clenched teeth, he swung out of bed to get dressed.

Another glorious day in CID.

Another glorious day with the Guv.

He permitted himself a tiny smirk as he tugged on his clothes and boots, and seized his jacket from the back of the chair. The Guv yelled in at him again, his voice sounding a bit closer.

‘Stop noncing about, Tyler, there’s work to do.’

 

His smirk grew wider, unseen. Another glorious day, sure enough.

 


End file.
